Rewind
by VampireMadonna
Summary: What would have happened if Jason hadn't thrown Charlie off the train? [There's a lots of tweaking; the characters/events are definitely not 100% canon. Melodramatic, romantic smuttiness. Strong M-rating.]
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Why is paragraphing such a headache?

* * *

"Bring her to me. I'm going to shoot the bitch!"

Jason momentarily froze, his hold tightening around Charlie as his heart skipped a beat. He'd been raised a soldier, trained to follow his father's every command, but this was one order that he simply could not comply to. He had to think and act fast.

"Lieutenant!" Neville snapped.

"I don't think I can do that, Sir," he heard himself say. Where on earth had that come from?

Neville's face was a mask of disbelief. His son had _never_ disobeyed him. "What?"

"What I meant was, we need to look at the bigger picture," Jason explained.

"Bring her here. _Now_!"

Jason straightened, looking his father dead in the eyes. "I cannot do that, Sir. You're letting your emotions override common sense."

Neville's eyes bulged out of their sockets. "_What?_"

"Think about it. How can she be useful to us? She can be a hostage."

Neville rolled his eyes and shook Danny, who he held in a vice grip. "We already have one."

"Yes, but Miles has no connection with him, no relationship. He's his uncle but he doesn't really _know_ him, and vice versa. He has a relationship with her, though. I've seen with my own eyes how she's gotten under his skin, how she's changed him. She came for her brother but Miles will come for her." He heard Charlie's gasp, felt her burning gaze on his face when she looked up at him but he didn't dare look down. He already knew what he would see in her big, blue eyes: hurt and betrayal. Just thinking about it cut him to the quick, he didn't need the image haunting him later on.

He saw that his words had struck a chord in his father, his eyes now speculative as he looked at Charlie.

"If nothing else, we should take her to General Monroe and let him decide the next course of action," he continued, driving his point home. "You can always kill her then."

Charlie stiffened in his arms, her struggling coming to an abrupt stop. Any feelings she might still have had for him were probably dead now, he thought. It hurt but he would accept it. At least she was alive and, contrary to what he'd just said to his father, he intended to do his very best to keep her that way.

It took him another minute but, satisfied with his reasoning, Neville eventually nodded. "Fine. We'll do it your way." He flashed a brief smile. "It seems I've trained you well. You're not gunning for my job, are you?"

Jason forced a smile. "No, Sir. I wouldn't dream of it."

Listening to them, Jason was sure that neither Charlie nor Danny would ever suspect that they weren't just Captain and Lieutenant but also father and son. Sadly, this exchange wasn't much different from the ones they had in the privacy of their own home. It wasn't that his father didn't love him. He knew that he did, deep down at least. The problem was that somewhere along the way, while fighting for their survival, he'd forgotten what it meant to be a father. It wasn't just about making sure that they stayed good with Monroe or that he followed in his father's footsteps by becoming indispensible to the militia, though those were his father's priorities now, priorities that his father had also chosen for him. Perhaps if he'd been a baby at the time of the blackout, the change in their relationship would have been easier to accept for he wouldn't have known better. But he'd been old enough that he remembered what life had been like back then, how close they'd been, how loving and affectionate his father had been. He didn't deny that his father had had to toughen up to take care of them in the years following the blackout, he just wished that some semblance of the gentle man he'd once been had survived. This man, his Captain, was practically a stranger to him. Hell, he even referred to him as Captain Neville in his thoughts. As far as he was concerned, his father might as well have been dead.

"Let's get these two locked up," Neville was saying. "Miles is still out there somewhere, possibly still on the train. I…"

Suddenly, a loud blast shook the carriage, knocking them to the ground. Jason tucked Charlie beneath him, shielding her from the shards of glass and splintered wood that rained down upon them.

When all was quiet once again, the train still chugging along, he stood, helping Charlie gain her feet as his eyes anxiously surveyed her, looking for any sign of injury.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, not wanting his father – who was also on his feet, dragging a dazed Danny up – to hear.

Charlie nodded, looking down at herself to make sure that she didn't have any injuries that she wasn't aware of.

The rear door burst open and an officer came in. "Sir," he greeted, saluting first Jason, then his father who he continued to make his report to. "Miles Matheson detonated that bomb. It seems that it was on board and he" – his eyes shifted to Charlie – "and the young lady here came to retrieve it. He attempted to throw it away from the train but it exploded above the rear carriage. We lost it."

"And Matheson?" Neville prodded.

"He got away, but not unscathed. We shot him, Captain. I can't say how seriously as the force of the bullet seemed to propel him over the side and he rolled down the hill. We did injure him, though, that much is certain."

Neville nodded. "Thank you. You're dismissed."

The officer saluted again, then disappeared back whence he came.

Jason had heard Charlie's shocked gasp when the officer announced that Miles had been shot. He chanced a glance at her but couldn't see her face as her head was tilted downwards. She was sagging in his arms, leaning heavily against his chest. He could only imagine how horrible she must be feeling, how worried she must be on top of that. Regardless of his issues with Miles, he did not want Charlie to have to suffer another death in the family. For that reason and that reason only, he hoped that Miles pulled through.

"Let's get these two to lock-up," Neville ordered.

Jason followed his father through a series of carriages, gently half-carrying Charlie along since she still seemed too stunned to walk on her own. She was no longer resisting his hold in any event. He would almost prefer she did. He'd rather she be kicking and screaming than sad and broken.

When they got to the holding area, which was essentially just another carriage with supplies and such, Neville carelessly dropped Danny in a corner, shackling his wrists and ankles before exiting the room.

Jason took the cuffs that the officer in charge of overseeing their "guests" held out to him but hesitated, his gaze now glued to Charlie's face, concern for her reflected in their brown depths.

"Charlie…"

"Don't," she whispered. Her eyes blazed blue fire when she looked up at him. "Don't talk to me, don't even look at me. From now on, I don't know you. Is that clear?"

He'd been right about the hurt and betrayal. He could see them clearly swimming in the watery blue of her eyes. But there was anger as well and it was that that she used to speak to him. She may have been upset over Miles' uncertain fate but she was still pissed enough not to completely crumble beneath the weight of it. He couldn't help admiring her resilience.

"Do you want me to search the prisoner before you tie her up, Lieutenant?" the officer offered. "Can't be too careful, you know."

A hint of colour stole into Jason's cheeks. There was no female officer on board to do the job but he'd be damned if he let anyone else touch Charlie.

"No, I've got it," he replied.

"Yes, Sir."

Jason waited until the officer moved away before turning back to Charlie. The anger in her eyes seemed to have multiplied a thousand fold. There was nothing he could do, though. For her own protection, he had to search her. If she did indeed have something hidden and managed to free herself and attempt an escape, she would be shot on sight. He might have talked his father into agreeing with his plan and the officer overseeing her, Danny and the two other prisoners in the room seemed…well, _nice_, but he knew Neville well enough to know that, should she give him a reason, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her. Monroe wasn't expecting her so there would be no major fallout over his actions.

She stood stiffly as he knelt in front of her. He briskly searched around her ankles, lifting the hem of her jeans and poking a finger inside her shoes to make sure nothing was hidden. His hands skimmed up her calves to her knees and thighs. He tried to keep his touch as light as possible knowing that the higher he went, the more intimate it would become. He slid his hands along her inner thighs, doing his best not to get too close to the apex, then he made quick work of searching her front and back pockets, cupping the curve of her butt to make sure that nothing was hidden there either. She held her arms to the side while he searched the pockets of her jacket and the waist of her jeans. He had avoided her gaze thus far but when he straightened in front of her, his hands skimming up the bare skin of her back to her bra, he made the mistake of looking into her eyes.

If he'd thought hurt and betrayal were bad, utter hatred should have killed him on the spot. Tears shone in her eyes but she bit down on her lower lip, as if refusing to let them fall free. She took a ragged breath when his hands slid to the front, his fingers gently skimming along the band of her bra and down the cleft between her breasts. As soon as he was done, he dropped his hands and stepped back.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. His remorse was genuine but he could tell from the look in her eyes that forgiveness would never come.

He quickly cuffed her wrists, then repeated the process on her ankles. He lowered her down beside Danny and as soon as her butt hit the floor, she pulled away from him.

"I'll check back later," he promised, speaking for her ears only though she refused to meet his eyes. "Charlie… Please don't try anything," he pleaded.

He stood there looking down at her for another minute, mentally willing her to look at him, even if only with anger and hatred, but she gave him nothing.

Sighing, he turned to the officer. "See that they're comfortable. Give them water or something to eat if they ask for it. It's going to be a long journey."

The officer nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Casting one last glance in Charlie's direction, Jason walked out and closed the door soundly behind him.

* * *

Charlie awoke with a start, her eyes flying open when she felt a cold sensation on her lips.

"Sorry," a voice apologized shyly.

She was surprised to find herself looking up into the blushing face of the officer on guard duty.

"You looked thirsty," he explained, gesturing to the cup in his hand. "I should probably have waited until you'd woken up, sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

She was surprised to realize that she had fallen asleep – how was that even possible given the rage boiling in her veins up to her last conscious moment? – but more so to find that she could actually smile at this man…boy…man…whatever. He looked about her age yet he had a youthful air about him, an innocence. He reminded her of Danny, who she now noticed was slumped against her shoulder sound asleep.

_Trust no one_, Maggie had said. No matter how jaded the world became or how many horrible experiences she endured, there would always be that part of her that saw the good in people first.

"No, it's okay," she said huskily. She cleared her throat before continuing. "I'm parched, actually."

He handed her the cup and she gratefully accepted it, downing its entire contents.

He smiled and eagerly refilled the cup.

"What are you doing here?" she asked suddenly.

He looked surprised at her question. "What do you mean?"

"You don't look like you belong here. You seem…nice." Then again, she'd thought Nate…no, _Jason_, was nice and look where it had gotten her. Still, this guy didn't have his arrogant, confident attitude. He just looked like a normal person, like someone who would have lived in her community: kind and harmless. "You're not like…." _Nate._ "…the others."

He blushed furiously. "Ahh, I get that a lot. I suppose it's true. I'm not really in the militia, not in the traditional sense. I'm not a highly trained soldier. I don't go on missions and so on. I can wield a knife and shoot something that's ten feet in front of me but that's about it." He pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose as if to make his point, smiling sheepishly. "I wasn't blessed with 20/20 vision and that's a bit of a hindrance in this line of work. I've always been too skinny, too blind, too sick, too _something_."

"So how did you end up here?" Charlie asked, genuinely curious.

"They came to my town and recruited – if you could call it that – all the able-bodied males. When they realized that that didn't exactly apply to me, the suggestion was put forth to put me out of my misery, _permanently_, but there are many jobs in the militia and General Monroe's residence and they don't all require you to be a pro-shooter. I'm what you call a jack of all trades. Sometimes I work in the laundry unit, other times I work in weapon maintenance, and occasionally I get the chance to come on these low-level missions as back-up. Not the killing kind, of course. More like seeing to the active officer's food or, in this case, watching over the prisoners. It's really low-risk so it's something even someone like me can't screw up." He smiled wryly. "Well, it was supposed to be low-risk. That bomb took us all by surprise, I think."

The mention of the bomb reminded Charlie of Miles and his injury and her sadness returned. He was a strong man and she had no doubt that it would take more than a bullet to kill him but even one little bullet could do a lot of damage. If he was seriously injured, it would take him that much longer to recover which meant that she could be looking at a lengthy stay in Monroe's mansion. Assuming that he didn't kill her to begin with.

Seeing her crestfallen expression, the officer's face turned a deeper shade of red. "I heard that your uncle was injured. I'm sorry."

Charlie smiled. "I don't think you're supposed to be apologizing. You're militia, you're supposed to _want_ Miles dead, or captured. But thank you." She waited a beat. "What's your name?"

"Sam. Samuel Samuelson."

Charlie would have burst out laughing if not for Danny at her side and the two other prisoners across the small cabin sleeping deeply.

"You're kidding right?" she asked, incredulous.

Sam shook his head. "My parents had a sense of humour, I guess. Growing up people used to call me Uncle Sam because I had such an old, mature soul for someone as young as I was. Plus, living in the U.S.-of-A as it were. That phrase is forbidden in the militia, though. We're moving forward, not backward, we're told. The Monroe Republic is the future of the U.S.A."

A shiver travelled down Charlie's spine. _God forbid_, she thought. If the horrors she had witnessed on behalf of the Monroe Republic were a small taste of what was to come, it made her think that the future wasn't going to be worth living.

"I probably shouldn't have told you that," Sam said to himself, frowning. "I probably shouldn't have told you anything. We're not supposed to interact with prisoners."

Charlie placed a hand on his arm, smiling up at him. "I'm glad you did. I think you're the most decent person I've met in a long time. And don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Nothing you've said will ever be repeated by these lips."

His eyes dropped to her lips when she said the word and his face deepened to an impossibly bright red.

It was rather endearing, she thought, taking a sip of water to hide her smile. She was glad to have met him. Even if she never saw him again, it was nice to be distracted, if only for a little while.

* * *

Jason's jaw clenched, a vein throbbing rapidly as he stood at the window to the small room looking in on the scene before him.

He couldn't remember ever seeing Charlie so carefree and smiley, which was ironic considering that she was being held prisoner and the person she was talking to so animatedly was supposed to be guarding her, not chatting with her.

His fingers dug into the metal of the plate he held when he saw Samuels or whatever his name was raise a cup to her lips for her to drink. He was pretty sure they had never met before so how the hell had they gotten so close and…_intimate_ so quickly?

When he'd left her earlier, he'd returned to the cabin that his father had chosen as his personal quarters and sat in on a briefing about one thing or another. He'd been distracted so he hadn't been paying attention but thankfully, no one had called on him so it went unnoticed. Afterwards, he'd gone to his own cabin and tried to rest for a bit after forcing himself to eat but sleep eluded him. It didn't take long to figure out why. _Charlie_, plain and simple. He wasn't used to being so close yet so far. He'd followed her and her group for weeks, had even been a part of it, albeit as a willing prisoner, for a period of time. The difference was that she had always been right _there_, within his sight if not his reach. He wasn't Nate anymore, however, or even not-Nate as she'd referred to him. He had officially resumed his role as a Lieutenant in the militia which meant that he had no reason to associate with her personally. She would be handled by Samuels until they got to Philadelphia, upon which General Monroe and whoever he assigned to her would take over.

He glanced down at the plate of food in his hand.

After forcing himself to stay away for almost exactly three hours, he'd gone to the kitchen and, as nonchalantly as he could manage, asked if the officer guarding the prisoners had sent for food. He'd been told _no_, so he'd fixed a plate himself, with enough food for both siblings. Charlie might still be pissed and therefore not hungry, or starve herself in order to spite him – he honestly wouldn't put it past her – but he would see that she ate, even if he had to force-feed her himself. He was positive that she hadn't eaten in at least eight hours and they still had another twelve or so to go before arriving in Philly. She would need to keep her strength up for whatever lay ahead.

Samuels raised the cup to Charlie's lips again and he couldn't repress the low growl that rumbled in his throat. He was tempted to barge in there and drag the guy up against the wall for a good pounding, which was completely irrational because he actually understood why he was feeding her the water. At some point she had wrapped her arms around Danny so that his head lay on her chest within the circle of her bound wrists, which meant that she couldn't possibly hold the cup herself. Would he prefer that she deprive herself of water rather than have someone else, someone who wasn't him, feed it to her?

Honestly? _Yes_.

Holding tightly to his self-control, he forced himself to take a step backward, then another and another until he could no longer see into the room through the window.

He would come back later. Samuels was bound to leave at some point.

* * *

Charlie stifled a yawn, thinking that another nap was definitely in order.

She glanced over at Danny and smiled when she saw him sleeping deeply once more, his features evened out peacefully. He'd woken long enough to eat something before promptly going back to sleep. He seemed to be really exhausted, which made her wonder when last he'd had a good night's sleep. It wasn't surprising though, she supposed. She didn't think she could have slept a wink if she'd been kidnapped and was surrounded by dangerous, armed men whose intentions towards her were unknown. Much like she was now, ironically, except that she had put herself in this position and knew that, at least until the train arrived in Philadelphia, she was safe.

When the cabin door slid open, she didn't immediately look up, assuming that it was Sam. In the hours since she'd been there, no one had entered after Jason left. Sam had gone out about ten minutes ago to get his dinner, which she was certain he was late for since he'd spent all that time talking to her, so he was the only one she expected to come in.

"Charlie."

A tremor ran down her spine at the sound of that all too familiar voice, an unwelcomed one now given the nature of things between them, and she looked up, her blue eyes instantly becoming defensive when they clashed with his wary brown ones.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked.

She remained silent and continued staring, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he pressed. "Anything that you need?"

Anything she needed? Was he serious?, she thought angrily. What she _needed_ was to be set free and take her brother back home but that wasn't going to happen, was it? Not unless he'd suddenly grown a conscience and was willing to sacrifice himself for them. So no, there was nothing that she needed that he could do for her.

_But..Actually…_

She held her wrists out to him. "Can you take these off? Just for a little bit so that my hands can relax in a comfortable position. They fell asleep around Danny earlier and I can't seem to get the pins and needles to stop." When she saw the skepticism in his eyes, she added, "I promise not to try anything…And I need to use the bathroom."

Jason – she would never get used to that name, he would always be Nate to her – pulled her to her feet and unlocked her cuffs. The chain between the shackles around her ankles was long enough that she could walk unhindered so he left them in place.

He held onto her arm as he led her through the train to the small pantry-sized toilet.

"I'm sorry if it's not exactly as clean as you'd like. This is a train full of men so…" He shrugged helplessly.

"That's okay," she said. It really didn't matter what state the bathroom was in. She had to go and _now_.

As she stepped in and closed the door behind her, she understood the reason for his apology. While she couldn't _see_ anything out of the ordinary, the toilet smelled. It made her feel like gagging. There _were_ cleansing cloths, soap and a pitcher of water, though, for which she was grateful.

She held her breath while she took care of business and burst out of the door not a moment too soon, inhaling greedy gulps of oxygen while her starving lungs labored to absorb it.

Jason laid a steadying hand on her arm. "That bad, huh?"

She nodded.

A minute later, she was back on the floor beside her brother, grimacing as she rubbed the life back into her arms. Her wrists hadn't chafed since the cuffs were loose but being unable to move her arms naturally for all those hours had seriously restricted the blood flow. She sighed contentedly when the tingling finally stopped.

"Better?" he asked with a small smile, squatting in front of her.

"Much."

She shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over Danny before turning back to Jason. As she did so, she caught a strange look in his eyes when they flickered downward before returning to her face. Glancing down at herself, she saw that her vest had ridden up her stomach above her navel and she had a fair amount of cleavage showing. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, which made her angry. It wasn't like he hadn't seen naked women before, she told herself, unlike she who had never even been touched by a man. That was, until today.

As angry as she'd been during his weapon search, how helpless and violated she'd felt, she'd been mortified to realize that she'd also been somewhat turned on. He'd tried his best not to touch her more than necessary, and she grudgingly appreciated that, but it hadn't stopped pleasant sensations from shooting through her body, especially when his hands had touched her bare flesh. She'd never considered herself particularly ticklish but she'd had to do her level best not to shiver as his fingers slid across her body. It also didn't help that she'd seen desire in his eyes, much like she did now. She might be innocent and sexually inexperienced but she wasn't naïve enough not to recognize lust when she saw it, especially when she was feeling it herself. That she was still attracted to him despite everything he'd done was something she had yet to come to grips with. As it was, it irritated her.

With seeming casualness, she tugged the hem of her vest back down to the waistband of her jeans and shook her hair forward to shield her chest before holding her wrists out to him.

It must be the lighting because she could've sworn that she saw his cheeks flush. It wasn't possible that he was blushing from having been caught staring, was it?

He replaced the cuffs on her wrists and stood. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She shook her head, her eyes fixed firmly forward.

He remained silent for a minute, as if searching for something to say. Why didn't he just go?, she wondered. He confused her greatly. He seemed to not want her to hate him but how was that possible when he kept doing things to hurt her and the people she cared about, all in the name of the damn militia?

"Charlie…"

She turned her head to the side, facing away from him, hoping that he'd get the point.

There was another long minute of silence before she heard him walk to the door, slide it open and close it behind him.

She released a breath that she hadn't even been aware she was holding.

Their exchange had lasted all of ten minutes yet she felt like she'd run a marathon. Turbulent emotions were incredibly exhausting, it seemed. Another nap was definitely in order.

Her mind didn't seem to want to comply, racing a mile a minute as it analyzed every moment she and Na…Jason had spent together, every look, everything he'd said He'd lied so much, was very good at it, but she didn't think it had all been fake. What happened between them just now certainly wasn't.

She didn't want to think about that, though. She didn't want to think at all.

Shifting position, she leaned against Danny's hip as he lay curled up on the ground and forced her mind to shut down.

* * *

A/N: I need some advice about something. If you like this and want me to continue it then you really need to provide some input.

I haven't posted anything here in forever and FFN no longer has MA ratings, however, what I've conceived thus far is pretty sexually explicit and exceeds an M rating so I don't know what to do about that. I could whittle down the content, I suppose, and make it less detailed but I kinda like it the way it is (I guess that makes me a pervert? lol) so I'm wondering what options I have. There are a lot of sexually explicit stories here, older ones especially, but I don't want to run the risk of having the story reported or anything like that. Any suggestions? The only alternative I can think of is posting the _sex-light_ version here and the full, detailed version elsewhere with a link to it.

EDIT: I decided to go with my original concept and hope for the best. So...lots of smuttiness up ahead. Brace yourselves!


	2. Chapter 2

They arrived in Philadelphia to great fanfare.

People had come from all around to see the train and the men that disembarked from it were greeted like they had just returned from a war, victorious of course.

Jason was the picture of a perfect soldier: tall and handsome, dressed in his full military regalia. Many looking at him smiled in admiration, not knowing the weight that that esteemed uniform carried with it.

He walked behind his father with a small group of officers bringing up the rear: the Captain, his second and his minions. Tom Neville epitomized a man of his rank. He'd done what he'd had to to become the man befitting the uniform. As Jason watched his father come to a halt in front of a beautiful, blond woman, his mother, and embrace her, he wondered who exactly was in control at that moment: Tom Neville the man and husband or Tom Neville Monroe's Captain. He wondered if his father could even differentiate between the two at this point. He had long ago stopped being able to.

As the two parted, he stepped up to his father's side and put on his best, vacantly polite smile as he faced the woman who had borne him.

"Jason," his mother greeted, smiling sedately up at him.

"Hello, Mother. It's good to be home."

Like his father, his mother had embraced the role of the Captain's wife whole-heartedly. She'd become a lady-of-the-manor of sorts, the Queen Bee amongst the wives of the high ranking officers. She too played her part very well. However, unlike his father, she had never stopped being a mother to him. They'd both had characters to play in this new world they lived in but whereas his father had _become_ his alter-ego, internalizing his goals and aspirations and ruthlessly doing whatever it took to achieve them, his mother had somehow managed to retain some of her old self while seemingly donning her new persona. While she wasn't as effusive with her affections as she'd once been, she'd never stopped being affectionate. Though she might not tell him that she loved him as often as she had in the past, she showed it constantly. And while she might encourage him to be the best that he could be, to rise in the ranks of the militia like his father had, her motives were entirely different.

His father had once been a powerless man and by the time of the blackout, that had become unacceptable to him. He'd taken his first life to regain the power he'd thought he'd lost and every life he'd taken since was a rung on a ladder that took him closer to his goal of attaining and holding onto as much power as he possibly could. That he didn't seem to aspire to rise to General Monroe's position both surprised and amused Jason. It seemed contradictory to this new man that he had become. On the other hand, his mother's main reason for motivating him could be summed up in one word: survival. Being in the militia, and especially being a ranking official, ensured his safety and his future. There were risks, of course, since he was constantly sent on missions and any manner of things could go wrong. How close had he come to dying at the hands of Miles Matheson? And how many times had he dodged bullets, literally and figuratively, during the short time he'd spent with them? Compared to some of his other missions, that one had been a piece of cake but still no less dangerous. There were no guarantees but it was relatively safer to be in the militia than on the other side where he could possibly become an enemy of the militia. His mother, smart woman that she was, had drilled that into him from the day they'd first stepped foot in Monroe's compound. For this reason, when she hugged him and he automatically wrapped his arms around her, his small sigh of contentment and his feelings of comfort were completely genuine. It really was good to be home in the warmth of his mother's arms.

These feelings were short-lived, however, as thoughts of Miles naturally brought thoughts of his honey-haired niece. He looked up just as she and Danny walked by, holding each other's hand tightly as Samuelson – he'd finally gotten the name right – led them down the platform to the buggy that would take them on a short ride to Monroe's compound. He had specifically chosen Samuelson since Charlie seemed comfortable with him. It was the last thing he would be able to do for her for a while.

Though he continued to hold onto his mother, his gaze remained fixed on Charlie. He wondered if it would be the last he would see of her too. He had no idea what her fate would be once Monroe got his hands on her.

* * *

Unaware of the eyes on her, Charlie held her head high, diligently taking in her surroundings, her hand tightening around Danny's as they _walked the plank_.

It might be a platform but it certainly felt like they were about to meet their maker, so to speak.

Philadelphia was, from what she could see of it, a bustling city. It was certainly the biggest she'd been to so far. The streets were milling with people, rushing here and there, all under the watchful eye of General Sebastian Monroe's militia. That Philadelphia belonged to the militia was unquestionable. There were circled _M's_ on banners hanging from every building as far as the eye could see. It was more than a little daunting to think that she would have to, somehow, hold her own in this place until Miles was well enough to attempt a rescue.

"Here we are," Sam announced, bringing them to a stop at a horse-drawn buggy. He helped her and Danny in, their hands still cuffed, ankles still shackled, before climbing up next to them. "Lieutenant Neville said that the driver will take us straight to General Monroe himself."

_Lieutenant Neville._

Charlie's jaw clenched, seething anger burning in her eyes.

During their brief interlude the night before, he'd certainly failed to mention that, hadn't he? If not for Sam, how much longer would she have remained ignorant of Na…_dammit_, Jason's true identity?

And all because she'd asked Sam one silly, little question!

_"Do you have a girlfriend, Sam?"_

_Sam blushed furiously, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. "A girlfriend? _Me_?" He shook his head. "No, Ma'am."_

_"Why not? Is it not allowed?" she asked, curious about the social aspects of militia life._

_He shook his head again. "It's not that. We…that is to say, officers of the militia, do date. Because of the grueling schedule and constant missions, etc., some officers prefer to just make use of the resident…uh…ladies'…" His blush deepened. "Um…services, but many of the high-ranking officers are married. Like Captain Neville, for example."_

_Her eyes went wide with disbelief. "Neville's married? What poor, unfortunate woman willingly tied herself to him? Or was it willing?"_

_Sam laughed. "He was already married when he joined the militia. He used to be an accountant or some kind of number-cruncher before the blackout."_

_"Hmm. Wonders never cease, do they?" she mused. "So if dating is allowed, why don't you have a girlfriend?"_

_Sam turned an even deeper shade of red, looking down at his nervously twisting hands. "Me? Who would want me? I'm nobody special."_

_"That's not true," she disagreed vehemently. "You're a great guy. Well, you seem to be anyway. I'm usually a good judge of character." Usually, she thought, reminded of her most recent lapse._

_"Thank you," he said shyly. "But girls tend to go for the tall, handsome, confident, mysteriously brooding type. Like Lieutenant Neville."_

_Charlie's ears perked up. "Lieutenant Neville?"_

_Sam nodded. "Yes. Captain Neville's son."_

_"Wait just a minute. So not only is Neville married but he also has a child?" She waited for Sam's nod of confirmation again. "Whoever thought it would be a good idea to make that man a father deserves a universal godsmack."_

_"I thought you knew," Sam said with a small frown. "You two seem close. Well, close enough. And he did spend time with your group while he was undercover."_

_Her stomach dropped, her heartbeat coming to a complete stop. "You mean…"_

_Sam nodded. "Lieutenant Jason Neville."_

_All this time she'd been conflicted about having an interest in and possible feelings for a traitor, someone who had saved her continuously but was, at the end of the day, on the wrong side of this fight. Now, to find out that not only had he used and betrayed her but he was also the son of the man who had killed her father and kidnapped her brother was a shock she could not have seen coming from five feet away. It made his betrayal that much worse._

Feeling sick to her stomach, she had quickly changed the subject.

"Thank you," she said suddenly, catching Sam by surprise.

"Huh? What for?" he asked.

"For being you. You know…nice. I may never see you again so I just want you to know that it meant a lot to me. And if it's at all possible, don't ever change, Sam. Don't let this place, this life, change you."

Sam couldn't really think of an answer, though he wanted to assure her that he had no intention of changing. Change wasn't something people always precipitated, though, and he was too humbled by her faith in him to point that out, so he settled for a simple nod.

They fell into silence for the rest of their trip to the compound, which was probably for the best since they no longer had the privacy of the prisoner's cabin on the train to shield their interaction.

The train station and its immediate surroundings had been clean and well-kept but on the way to the militia headquarters, Charlie got a look at the real desolation and decay at the heart of the city. Buildings burned to the ground, empty shells of their former glory. People, dirty, bedraggled and undernourished, shuffling through the streets going where and why, she had no idea because it didn't look like there was anywhere to go or anything to do. It was eye-opening, to say the least, and made her all the more thankful for her simple, if misleadingly safe, upbringing in the suburbs.

_"There's nothing out there,"_ her father had said. _"Do you want to die like your mother?"_

She'd thought that he was being dramatic, over-exaggerating the horrors of the outside world in order to keep her close to him. She'd been wrong. She didn't regret leaving, still felt like she'd needed to in order to grow as a person and better understand the world that they lived in, but she understood now why her father, as a parent, would have wanted to protect his child from this if it was at all avoidable, which in her case it had been. She wondered what he would say if he could see her now…

"Probably "_I told you so"_," she mused aloud.

"Did you say something?" Danny asked.

"No." She flashed a smile. "Just thinking about Dad."

Guilt and grief stole over Danny's face and she could've kicked herself for being so insensitive.

"It's not your fault," she said softly, tightening her hold on his hand.

"It is and you know it. Shirking responsibility isn't going to help me get over it."

"Neither is dwelling on it," she countered. "Dad…Dad's gone. It doesn't matter how or why or who's responsible. We have to put it behind us, at least until we're safely away from here. Then we can mourn him properly. Until then, we stay focused. We need to be strong, both physically and mentally. This isn't going to be easy, Danny."

He nodded. "I know."

"I'm going to do my best to make sure that we both get out of here alive."

"Charlie…You don't have to…"

"Stop!" she interrupted, knowing exactly what he was going to say since she'd heard it many times before. "I'm your big sister, it's my job to take care of you. Mom and Dad left me in charge and I promised that I wouldn't let them down. I should have been there when…"

"Now who's playing the blame game?" Danny interjected, cocking a blond brow.

Charlie took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "You're right. Let's just…move on."

It took about twenty minutes to get to the compound.

When they pulled up to the gates, Sam helped them down from the buggy and proceeded to pat them down one last time – as a favor to her, Charlie was sure – before the sentry posted at the gate could do the job. As she walked through the town, Sam and the driver on either side of them, she couldn't help marveling at the stateliness of it. It was like time had stopped here. It seemed to have been an exclusive community of some sort, with large houses, clean streets, manicured lawns and even a park. All of the buildings had been maintained to keep them in prime condition.

_It must have been nice growing up here_, she thought angrily, disgust clogging her throat. It was unjust and a disgrace that not too far from the high walls of the compound, people lived in squalor, without proper food, shelter or clothing. No wonder Jason had betrayed her. If this was what he had to come back to, if this was what the militia called home, then no wonder they gave their lives for it. Who would want to live hand-to-mouth for the sake of freedom when there was this slice of heaven waiting for them?

Monroe's residence was a huge mansion at the center of the community. Like the rest of the houses, it was picturesque. The only thing that seemed out of place were the heavily armed sentries on the balconies of each of the three levels of the mansion. The militia's presence could be felt and seen throughout the community but it was heaviest here, understandably so she supposed.

Sam and the other escort led them through the gates to the front door but as the door opened, Sam turned to her and said, "This is where I leave you."

Surprised, she suddenly found herself feeling abandoned. She had wrongly assumed that Sam would take them all the way, having forgotten that he was little more than an errand boy.

Swallowing thickly, she nodded. "Thank you."

_Good luck_, Sam mouthed with a smile before turning and heading back down the walkway.

The walk through the mansion to the stairs that would take them to Monroe was a sight that Charlie had never dreamt she would ever see in person but she wasn't able to appreciate it as she otherwise would have, not after what she'd seen on the way there.

Up the stairs and down a hall brought them to a pair of tall doors, guarded by another pair of heavily armed officers, which seemed to be the theme of the place. Either Monroe was extremely paranoid or he had reason to be worried for his safety, which she had no doubt he _did_.

One of the officers stepped forward, slinging his gun over his shoulder on its strap, and proceeded to frisk them. She was thankful that he was quick about it but if another man put his hands on her, or tried to, she might scream her head off.

"Clear," the officer announced when he was done.

He moved back to the door and, turning the handle, stepped inside.

"Excuse me. They're here, General," she heard him say.

"Send them in."

The voice that replied was soft and gravelly, not at all what she'd expected from the big, bad General Monroe, President of the militia and the Republic.

The double doors opened and they were led inside.

The first thing she noticed was how huge the room was. Elegantly furnished – like the rest of the house – with a high, domed ceiling and polished wooden floors. That kind of opulence was obscene yet she couldn't help admiring it, having never seen anything like it before.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

She looked towards the voice and took stock of the man who it belonged to.

He was shorter than she'd imagined, though clearly fit, and far more handsome than someone as evil as he should be. His face did not betray the man he was said to be on the inside.

_I guess the big, bad wolf really does come in sheep's clothing sometimes_, she thought.

"Welcome," he greeted. He turned to her brother. "Danny. I'm sorry about what happened to your father. Believe me, it was not my intention." He glanced over his shoulder. "Rest assured that Captain Neville will be dealt with." He then met Charlie's gaze, smiling. "And you must be Charlotte. Your reputation precedes you. And might I say, you look just like your mother."

Charlie gasped, unable to control her reaction. Those were the last words she'd ever expected to hear.

"You…You know my mother?"

He looked to his left, an unspoken question in his eyes, and it was then that she realized that he was not alone. Standing beside him were none other than Captain Tom Neville and Lieutenant Jason Neville.

How the hell did they beat them there when they'd left the train station first?

Unable to help herself, she looked at Jason, unsurprised to find his eyes on her. His expression was unreadable – wasn't it always? – so she turned back to the man in charge. She didn't need Jason clouding her thoughts or feelings at the moment. She had to be on the ball at all times where Monroe was concerned. Her life could very well depend on it.

"Ahh, our other guest has arrived," Monroe said when the doors opened once again.

Wary, Charlie turned as the guards preceded whoever it was into the room but as they parted and the new arrival was revealed, her wariness turned to shock.

The blood drained from her face, her heart skipped a beat and for the second time, she gasped.

"Mom?"

* * *

Jason watched as Charlie stared Monroe down, admiration and pride filling his chest.

She was meeting the President of the Monroe Republic, the General of the entire militia, and yet she had the audacity to blatantly measure the man with her no-nonsense, calculating gaze. He didn't know anyone as brave as she, not even in the higher ranks of the militia, his father included.

_"Ahh, our other guest has arrived."_

Something inside of him jerked just then. He wished that he could warn her somehow, that he could ease what was about to come and make it less of a shock. He could have, _should_ have, told her ages ago. He'd had an opportunity on the train as well but he'd let it slip away.

"Mom?" he heard her breathe.

Rachel Matheson froze in mid-stride, eyes widening as she laid eyes on her daughter for the first time in a decade.

"Charlie?"

A second later she disappeared in a blond blur, streaking across the room to her children and throwing her arms around them both, hugging them tightly.

"Oh, my God," she cried. "I never thought I'd see you again."

She kissed their cheeks, nuzzled their faces, never releasing her hold on them for even a second.

Charlie and Danny, so alike in looks, had tears in their eyes as they beheld their mother for the first time since they were children.

"Isn't this lovely?" Monroe said dryly, breaking the mood. "So heart-warming."

Despite her tear-ravaged face, Rachel Matheson managed to pull herself together to look like the fierce Mama-Bear that she was as she turned to face Monroe.

"What is she doing here?" she demanded. "You only mentioned Danny."

Monroe opened his eyes wide in mock innocence. "I was only expecting Danny, Scout's honor. Imagine my surprise when I learned that not one but _two_ Matheson offspring would be walking into my office." He grinned. "Consider it a gift from me to you, after all the hard work you've committed to doing for me." His voice lowered to just a hint of a threat at the end of the sentence and Jason knew by the fear that entered Rachel's eyes that his message had been received loud and clear.

"Come now," Monroe said, clapping his hands. "Why don't you sojourn to your room? I'll have some refreshments sent up and you can catch up on all that you've missed. I'm sure that will last you another ten to twenty years, Rachel."

Rachel flushed at his insult, a reminder that she had abandoned her children and thus missed out on a large chunk of their lives.

"Come," she said to them, ushering them out the door.

"Uh-uh," Monroe chimed.

Rachel stopped and looked back at him.

"I'm afraid she'll have to stay," he said, pointing at Charlie. His gaze shifted to one of the guards behind them. "Take her away."

Rachel dropped her hold on her children and turned to face Monroe. "What? Why?"

"There's just the matter of a minor interrogation and she'll be returned to you posthaste."

Rachel took a step towards him. "Bas…"

Ignoring her, he once again turned to the guard. "Have it set up for tonight," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," the guard saluted.

Jason watched helplessly as the guard grabbed Charlie by the arm and began to drag her from the room. She struggled and tried to kick and claw but all to no avail as another guard grabbed her other arm to keep her still while they removed her from the room.

"Mom!"

Danny lunged after her but was brought up short by Neville's hand on the scruff of his neck.

Jason didn't even realize that his father had moved.

"Charlie!" Rachel screamed, also making a move to go after her.

Monroe grabbed her by the elbow, however, holding her in place.

"Don't make a scene, Rachel," he warned softly. "I won't hurt her unless she makes it necessary for me to do so. So long as she answers my questions honestly, she won't come to any harm. You'll have her back before you know it." His gaze shifted to Danny for a long, pointed moment before returning to Rachel's horrified face. "Take Danny and go to your room before I change my mind about that too. _Now_."

Stumbling blindly towards her son, Rachel grabbed his arm and jerked him out of Neville's hold before following a guard out of the room.

"Lieutenant, can you excuse us? I'd like to speak to your father alone," Monroe said, walking around his desk to sit in his chair.

"Yes, Sir," Jason saluted, grateful for the reprieve. His feelings of helplessness had turned to those of self-disgust at being unable to help Charlie. Watching her be dragged away, literally kicking and screaming, would haunt him for some time.

"I want your full report at 18:00 hours. Why don't you relax until then?"

"Yes, Sir."

Saluting the General and then his father, Jason took his leave.

* * *

_Relax._

How was he supposed to relax? His mind was racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins with no viable outlet. He had to force himself to stay still as it was.

Sighing, Jason ran a weary hand over his face.

After leaving Monroe's office, he'd headed to the officer's cafeteria and grabbed a quick bite before returning to his room. He'd paced for a while, wearing a path from the window to the door, his thoughts a convoluted mess, before finally dropping onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. It was exactly why he hadn't gone home. His mother would have hovered and that was the last thing he needed right now. He needed to think – or beat himself senseless – and her presence would only have gotten in the way of that. She would have wanted to talk, about his mission, about why he seemed disturbed, and he simply couldn't deal with her endless questions.

Though he sometimes lived at home, he also had a room in one of the many large houses surrounding the mansion, which were reserved for the families of the high-ranking officers, single ranking officers or people Monroe considered otherwise important. He was but one of many lieutenants in the militia, however, being Captain Neville's son had certain perks, this being one of them. It was the only one he was thankful for because he often felt like he was suffocating in his parents' house. Here, in this room, was the only place he could breathe, where he could simply be Jason.

"Why did I bring you here?" he whispered to ears that were too far away to hear.

He'd been asking himself that question since the train. He should have probably thrown her off and risked incurring his father's wrath. He might have yelled at him, probably would have smacked him around a little, but then he would have had to get over it. There was no way that Tom Neville would ever have let Monroe find out about it. In his eyes, Jason's failure would be his own. Jason could handle his father's disappointment but he couldn't live with the uncertainty of Charlie's future. If he'd thrown her off the train, she might have been injured, may have broken something, but she'd most likely be alive and, more importantly, she'd be safe. He could not guarantee her safety here. No one could.

Now, because of him, she was locked up in a cell somewhere – without even the comfort of being imprisoned with her family – awaiting interrogation. He had no idea what she would be subjected to as there were many types of interrogations and it all depended on who conducted it. Best case scenario, Monroe sat her down for a conversation. He prayed that, for once, Charlie would withhold the attitude and just answer straightforwardly. Pissing Monroe off wasn't a good idea. He hoped that she was smart enough to see that. If Monroe didn't handle it personally, there might be even more cause for concern. Some of the men who specialized in "information gathering", especially getting detainees to talk, were downright scary. There was one in particular…

Jason blanched, pushing the thought out of his head before it could fully take root. He prayed to God that Charlie didn't have to deal with _him_. Jason even steered clear of him if he could. Simply being around the man made one's blood run cold. He had an unsettling aura.

He continued to think, considering his options. Eventually, he decided that, if it was possible, he would go to her interrogation. Somehow, he would try to guide her through it. If nothing else, he hoped that his presence would put her at ease.

_Or piss her off enough that she'll be able to cope with whatever they throw at her._

Charlie was his responsibility, he thought with grim conviction. He had gotten her into this mess and it was up to him to come up with some kind of game plan that would allow him to help and protect her.

Hopefully, he wouldn't get them both killed.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up, the sun was setting.

Groggy, he rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. It was another feature of his room that he loved. Though there was no pipe borne water, they'd been able retain some semblance of modern convenience. The shower didn't work, naturally, but he had a tub and could flush the toilet if he filled the tank manually. There was a huge vat of water in the corner, which allowed him to meet all of his aquatic needs without having to lug water through the house every day. Whenever it got close to running low, it would _magically_ be refilled.

_Another perk_, he thought with a smile, one that he'd missed while stomping through the woods with Charlie and company.

Everyone had a role to play. While he might not have to do menial jobs, he did constantly put his life on the line and spent most of his time training for a war that would undoubtedly eventually come. A fair trade if ever there was one.

He splashed water on his face and neck, letting it air dry to cool himself down. He was in desperate need of a bath but he would take care of that later, when his mind and heart were no longer filled with fear and worry for Charlie and what awaited her. When he could finally, as Monroe had ordered, relax.

Feeling refreshed, he walked back into the bedroom, toweled off and tidied up, trading his shirt for a fresh, crisp one. The material was rough and uncomfortable and felt foreign after weeks of dressing like a civilian. That was one of the benefits of living a normal life, he supposed. There was very little uniformity, no mold that the civilians had to force themselves to fit into. They could do whatever they wanted to do, say whatever they wanted to say – so long as it wasn't against the militia or they weren't caught, of course – wear whatever they wanted to wear. His civilian clothes had been extremely comfortable but they'd also been specifically chosen for the mission.

He smiled to himself, remembering Miles' name for him.

_Nipples._

An unexpected though entertaining bonus feature of his fitted shirts. He'd worn those clothes on missions before, missions where he'd had to get close to women to glean information. It was one of the many information gathering techniques he was trained in. They were always advised to use their assets and, being a handsome guy, attracting women was a piece of cake. He never had to expend much effort to get what he wanted from them. Charlie was a harder, more difficult nut to crack but not altogether immune to him. When they'd first met, he knew that she'd liked what she'd seen. And even after he'd betrayed her, she'd still protected him from Miles at the amusement park. He knew that she was as aware of him physically, sexually, as he was of her. Try as she might to fight or deny it to herself, it was there. He'd seen it in her eyes a few times, even after she'd found out who and what he really was. He liked the fact that she was attracted to him. He knew that nothing could ever come of it, any kind of relationship was doomed before they'd even met, but it made him feel good to have his feelings returned. No one liked being in a one-sided love affair, after all.

Breaking out of his musings, he finished tidying his clothes, checked himself in the mirror to make sure that he looked presentable, stuffed a rolled-up sheet of paper on his desk in his pocket and exited the room.

He still had time before Monroe would be expecting him so he didn't hurry. He'd written his report the night before on the train – when he'd been too distracted with thoughts of Charlie to sleep – and had it memorized verbatim so he wasn't worried about being caught off guard by any questions the General might have for him. Nothing he'd written in the report was a lie, he'd simply left out a few details here and there. He'd downplayed Charlie's involvement with Miles' schemes and skimmed through their interactions, making the report as analytical and impersonal as he possibly could. As far as Monroe was concerned, he was merely a robot, a programmable foot soldier following orders, so he tried to write his report befitting of that role.

When he reached the front of Monroe's mansion, he walked up the heavily guarded drive, nodding briefly to the officers as he passed.

_Ten on the ground, three on each balcony, countless others inside._

Even if he'd been crazy enough to try, there was no way he could get Charlie away from this place by himself. Their bullet ridden bodies wouldn't even make it to the front door before they hit the ground.

He made his way inside, up the stairs to the huge double-doors and waited to be announced and permitted.

When the summons finally came, he drew a deep breath, threw his shoulders back and braced himself.

It was no surprise that his father was there, he thought when he walked in, as if he hadn't moved since he'd left them earlier. He was almost always at Monroe's side, like an obedient, prized pet.

"Lieutenant," Monroe said in greeting.

"Sir!" he saluted.

"At ease, soldier."

Monroe didn't waste time in getting down to business. Jason handed him the written report and launched into a verbal recitation. He gave a brief summary of every point he'd noted in the report, answering Monroe's questions as he asked them.

"Good," Monroe said when he was done. "You've been very thorough, Lieutenant. I appreciate your attention to detail."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I found it a bit light myself," Captain Neville commented, cocking a brow as he looked pointedly at his son. "Especially where it concerns the girl."

"The report is complete, Sir," Jason replied tonelessly, barely restrained anger prickling beneath his skin.

Monroe chuckled. "Give the boy a break, Tom. There's nothing wrong with appreciating a pretty face."

Neville said nothing but by the look on his face, Jason was sure that he disagreed.

"You think quickly on your feet, Lieutenant," Monroe continued. "I like that as well. To be honest, like your father, I probably wouldn't have thought of keeping her around."

"You can never have too many hostages, Sir," he responded confidently.

Monroe laughed. "That sounds like something Miles would say." He turned to drop the report on his desk, picking up another sheet of paper. "You're free to go, Lieutenant, but before you do, have you seen this pendant? With the girl perhaps?" He held the paper out to Jason.

Jason glanced down at the page, instantly recognizing the symbol.

"Not the girl. The fat guy has it."

Monroe nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all."

"Yes, Sir." He clicked his heels together and turned as if to leave, took two steps then paused, turning back. He wanted it to seem like an afterthought. He couldn't let even a hint of anxiety or anticipation show. "Sir."

Monroe raised a questioning brow. "Lieutenant."

"Permission to observe the detainee's interrogation, Sir."

A frown settled between Monroe's brows. "May I ask why?"

"Permission to speak frankly, Sir?" At Monroe's nod, he continued. "She handcuffed me to a post and left me for dead, Sir. It took me two days to free myself." He forced anger into his words, hoping that he looked as pissed as he sounded. "I just want to see her suffer a little."

Monroe gave him a long, considering look before a huge smile broke out across his face. He looked over at Tom and slapped him on the shoulder. "Jesus, Tom, he's almost as vindictive and blood-thirsty as you are. Like father, like son, eh?"

Tom Neville cracked a small smile but Jason still saw suspicion in his eyes.

Turning back to Jason, Monroe nodded. "Alright, permission granted. Oh, but you'd better hurry. I think Strausser's already started."

_Strausser? _

Jason's stomach sank, his heartbeat quickening.

_No, no, no. Anyone but him._

"Please remind him not to get carried away," Monroe said. "I don't want the girl scarred for life and he's terrified enough women around here as it is."

"Yes, Sir."

"And Lieutenant, one last thing. To your knowledge, does the girl know what her uncle plans to do next?"

Jason shook his head. "They were single-mindedly focused on yesterday. Their original aim was just to get the brother back but then the woman, Nora…"

"Nora Clayton?" Monroe interjected. "Latina?"

Jason nodded. "Yes. She's a rebel. She met up with a man named Hutch, another rebel I assume, and they built the bomb to blow up the train. My guess is they were hoping to find the boy before the train departed but when they realized that he was on it, they decided to stop the bomb instead." He paused for a moment. "I was their prisoner but they spoke freely in front of me so I'm fairly certain that what I heard and saw is accurate. If they'd gotten the boy, they would have gone back home so I don't think they had any further plans. The girl won't have any information to give Strausser no matter how hard he tries."

"It never hurts to be thorough," Monroe replied with a small smile. "I'm sure you can appreciate that."

Jason bowed his head in – grudging – agreement.

"Go on. And don't forget to remind Strausser to show some restraint. The girl's mother is difficult enough to deal with as it is, I don't need to give her more reasons to be troublesome. Threats are only meaningful if I have something to use against her, which I won't if the girl's dead."

"Yes, Sir."

Jason saluted one last time, turned and calmly walked out the door.

He kept his pace sedate, chanting _left, right, left_ in his head as he mechanically walked through the house. He couldn't show any emotion, couldn't give in to the fear clogging his throat, the urge to run. He had to stay cool, he reminded himself. He had to be strong for both of them. Heaven knew what condition Charlie would be in when he got to her. If Strausser hurt her… He didn't know what he would do. He might very well lose his head.

* * *

Back in Monroe's office, the General walked to the sidebar, picked up a crystal decanter of his favorite whiskey and poured himself a glass. He raised the glass to Tom in a silent question, replacing the stopper in the decanter when his Captain declined.

"You've done a great job with him, Tom. He's the perfect soldier. You really should be proud."

Captain Neville bowed his head graciously. "Thank you, Sir."

"I don't think I'll ever know what that feels like, Tom. The pride a man, a father, has in his son."

"It's not too late, Sir."

Monroe laughed mirthlessly. "Come now, Tom, you know me better than that. You're lucky that you had Julia before the blackout. Finding love in this world is as likely as the electricity coming back on at this very minute. A one in a million chance. So don't be too hard on your boy if he has a little crush on a pretty girl. Those who find it are the lucky ones. Unless he lets it get in the way of his work," he added with an inquiring lift of his brow.

Neville hesitated. "There was a moment on the train where I thought that he was going to defy me. He _did_ defy me when I told him to bring her to me and he didn't."

"But…?"

"But then he made his point…and he was right. I did let my anger towards the girl and her brother cloud my judgment."

"He could have said that just to save her," Monroe pointed out.

Neville nodded. "True. But he's never put her before his duty and loyalty to the militia. He's betrayed her at every turn and he knows that bringing her here means she'll probably never leave. He may not want her dead but… No, he hasn't let it interfere with his work."

Monroe nodded, satisfied. "Good. I think he deserves a little reward."

Startled, Neville straightened. "Sir?"

"What? He's completed a solo mission, one that, knowing Miles, couldn't possibly have been easy. He was bound and left stranded and helpless, as he pointed out, by the girl he fancies. Don't you think that deserves a reward?"

_No_, Neville thought. Regardless of what he'd said in Jason's defense, he didn't believe in doling out rewards unless they were earned through blood, sweat and tears. Following a little rag tag group of wannabe troublemakers was hardly likely to be too difficult.

"I respect your opinion, Sir," he said finally.

Monroe chuckled. "You would've made a hell of a politician, Tom. Any idea what he'd like? Alcohol? Gold? Is there a specific girl that he visits at the hotel?"

"Not that I can think of, Sir. Jason has always been a pretty introverted young man. He's sociable enough, he gets along with everyone and for the most part they like him, but he keeps his thoughts and predilections to himself."

"Hmm… Fine, I'll think on it. In the meantime…" He knocked back the rest of his glass. "There's that small matter of Ben Matheson."

Neville paled visibly. "Sir, it wasn't my intention to…"

"How would you like the rank of Major?"

"Sir?" Were his ears deceiving him?, he wondered.

"_Your_ reward, Tom," Monroe said with a smile. "I know how long you've had your eye on heading up the information and interrogation division. You've been away from home, from Julia, for quite some time now. As has your son," he pointed out. "I'd say you've certainly earned it. It's yours if you want it."

"Sir…" There was so much he could say but words escaped him.

Monroe nodded. "We make a good team, Tom, you and I. With you by my side, there's nothing we can't accomplish."

Humbled by Monroe's faith in him, Neville was again struck speechless, only managing a nod in response.

* * *

The dungeon was dark and eerie, lit only by widely spaced sconces set in the walls.

There were other detainment areas with cells similar to that of a regular prison but the dungeon was atmospheric. Only important prisoners were brought here, people who had pertinent information and needed the fear of God put in them to comply. The cells were completely blocked off, concrete walls on the sides and a solid steel door at the front, so that prisoners couldn't see or interact with one another. They could hear each other, though, especially if/when an interrogation was being conducted in the rooms at the end of the long aisle. Agonized screams had a tendency to permeate even the smallest of wall cracks.

Jason listened intently for any sounds coming from the rooms at the end of the aisle as he hurriedly made his way down. There were currently no prisoners in the dungeon so there were no guards around except for the two posted at the outer door. For this reason, he felt safe enough to run down the aisle to the only door with light shining in its window, pausing only to collect himself before unceremoniously throwing it open.

"What the…"

Strausser stood, turning towards the door to see who had joined him, a wicked looking blade in his hand. He usually worked alone, unless the General had questions he personally wanted to ask, so he wasn't expecting company and was less than pleased with the interruption.

Jason forced himself not to look at Charlie, meeting Strausser's hard glare with a bemused expression of his own as he casually leaned against the door frame.

"Hey," he greeted calmly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Strausser barked.

"What do you think? I came to watch."

Strausser's brows furrowed and he took a threatening step towards Jason. "I don't like company when I'm working."

Jason scoffed. "Too bad." When Strausser raised his bladed hand and took another step towards him, Jason raised his own hands defenselessly. "Hey, I got permission. General Monroe knows that I'm here." This time he took a step towards Strausser. "He told me to make sure that you don't go overboard. He doesn't want the girl tortured or scarred. Just get the information and be done with it." He smirked. "But I can promise you now that she won't tell you anything."

Strausser cocked a challenging brow. "You think so?"

He walked back to Charlie's side, squatting beside her and for the first time, Jason allowed himself to look at her.

_Good God._

Jason froze, arms dropping to his sides, hands curling into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms.

She sat in a chair, bound and gagged, her arms tied to the armrests of the chair, palms up. Her face was fine, blotchy and her eyes shone with tears but she was otherwise unhurt. Her arms though… There were countless lines etched horizontally from elbow to wrist. They were so perfect, so precise, that it looked like he'd used a ruler to measure the distance between each slice. There was no blood, though, which was a small consolation. No blood meant no scars.

"How do you expect her to talk if she's gagged?" he heard himself ask, his voice husky to his own ears.

"She'll let me know when she's ready. Won't you my pretty?" Strausser cupped the side of her face and Jason saw her visibly tremble, jerking away from the man's touch.

"She can't tell you what she doesn't know."

Strausser glanced at him. "And you know this because…?"

"I was there. I heard everything they said, saw everything they did. I already told General Monroe this. She doesn't know anything."

Strausser shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I'm just following orders. Now you can either stand there quietly and let me do my job or leave."

Jason stepped back to the door, needing to put as much distance between himself and Strausser before he strangled the man. He focused instead on Charlie, seeing that she was already watching him.

She was shooting daggers at him again and it made him want to smile. She was undoubtedly in pain but her spirit was apparently as feisty as ever.

"Now where were we…" Strausser murmured, bringing the thin blade to Charlie's arm again.

"No scars," Jason reminded him.

"Don't worry. It looks worse than it really is. Superficial wounds are always the bloodiest," he said matter-of-factly. "But as you can see, there's no blood. I'm being a good boy."

By Strausser's standards, playing tic-tac-toe on a young girl's arms was _light_ torture but it still made Jason's skin crawl. He wondered how anyone could be so soulless.

Charlie groaned softly as the blade scraped across her sensitive flesh. Sweat broke out on her skin and her eyes were filled with pain but she didn't cry and she didn't make any attempt to talk to or reason with the psycho inflicting pain upon her.

_Look at me_, Jason mouthed, pointing to his eyes.

She stared back at him, holding his gaze and he felt like their souls connected. Her lashes would flicker and her chest would heave whenever Strausser made a new cut and the pain in her eyes was so tangible that Jason felt it as if it was his own. Yet still, she didn't whimper or shed a single tear. She stayed centered on him, like he'd wanted – _needed_ – her to and he felt himself smiling, his chest swelling with pride. She was a strange girl, Charlie. With the exception of his mother, he didn't know any woman who could even bear being so close to Strausser, much less being strapped down and at his psychotic mercy yet keeping her cool.

"You have anything to say to me, darlin'?" Strausser asked, once again trailing a hand along her cheek.

This time Charlie didn't jerk away. Instead, she looked at him with a hatred and anger so intense that Jason was thankful not to be on the receiving end.

Strausser, however, seemed to find it amusing since he laughed and said, "You've got a lot of fire in you, don't you girl? I like that. I think you and I could have a lot of fun together. Too bad I can't bring out all my toys."

Listening to him, Jason struggled to remain calm, wanting nothing more than to take Strausser's knife and carve him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. He would be doing the world a favor, he was sure of it.

"Are you about done here?" Jason asked, keeping his voice level and disinterested.

"I like to take my time when I'm working. I'm a bit of a perfectionist so I need to be…thorough." He shot Jason a glance over his shoulder. "Why did you want to watch anyway?"

Figuring it was the safest answer, Jason gave him the same excuse that he'd given Monroe.

"When I was tailing them, I thought she'd been injured so I revealed myself to help her. Stupid decision, I know that now, but I really thought she was injured and I needed her to get to Matheson so…" He shrugged. "But the bitch was faking it. Next thing I know I'm handcuffed to a post and she's walking off on me. Took me two days to free myself, then I had to haul ass to catch up."

Strausser laughed. "Amateur."

"Whatever. Anyway, I figure I'm due a little payback so I asked General Monroe if I could watch. It's about the only revenge I'm gonna get."

"Well, Lieutenant, I wish I could put on a proper show that'll make up for what this pretty lil' thing did to you but I've got my orders. However…" He turned his body slightly to look fully on at Jason, smiling a smile so cold and creepy that a shiver ran down Jason's spine. "Why don't you come over here and give it a try?" He gestured to the handle-less knife he held. "I'm sure that'll be a helluva lot more satisfying than just watching."

Jason forced a laugh, waving off the offer. "I'd better not. My emotions might get in the way and I may end up doing more damage than I mean to. I'd rather not be on General Monroe's bad side. Better to leave it to the pros."

Strausser chuckled, turning back to Charlie. "Suit yourself. It's a pity for all my work to go to waste, though. Even just one…"

"No scars," Jason said firmly.

"I got it, I was just saying…"

Jason had to assume that Strausser knew, like he'd already told him, that Charlie had nothing to say so at this point, he was merely torturing her for the sake of it. That he was a sick man was nothing new but it hadn't really hit home until now, until it was someone he knew and cared about. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Until Strausser himself called it quits or one of the higher ups sent for him, Charlie was at his mercy. He wanted to whisk her away and take care of her, wanted to fight for her honor and pay Strausser back for every cut, every shiver, every tingle of fear that he'd made her feel. But he couldn't. He was utterly, disgustingly helpless.

After another ten minutes or so, or what felt like eternity, Strausser stood, picked up a soft white cloth and wiped the knife clean.

Jason breathed a soft sigh of relief, flashing Charlie a small smile as if to say _"it's over now"_.

"Packing it in?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Not quite yet."

Jason frowned, panic rising in his chest. "But…"

"I said that it was a pity I couldn't bring out _all_ of my toys," Strausser reminded him. A wicked smile settled on his lips. "I never said that I wasn't going to show her a few more. This was just…an appetizer, if you will."

"What's the point when she obviously doesn't know anything?" Jason asked, trying his best to stay calm and not give away the fact that he was freaking out inside. "And General Monroe…"

"General Monroe said not to leave any scars, and so I shan't. But he knows better than to rush me. He usually leaves me to work in peace. I let you stay because you said that you wanted revenge for what she did to you but if you can't stomach it, there's no shame in admitting it. Torture is not for the faint of heart or yellow-bellied," he purred, his smile widening.

Jason flushed slightly. "It's not that. I've seen far worse things. I just…"

A knock on the door interrupted him and Jason turned to see a private standing behind him.

The private saluted. "Lieutenant. Colonel Lansing requires your presence."

_No, no. Not now._

"Just give me…" he began.

"He said that it's urgent, Sir. Regarding the trouble down south."

_Shit._

"Go on," Strausser said. "I _promise _not to leave any scars. Scout's honor." He placed a hand over his heart but the smile that accompanied his words was anything but comforting_._

Jason looked at Charlie, apology clearly written in his eyes. He wanted to say something, wished that he could, but what could he possibly say that would give her strength but wouldn't sound out of place?

"Good luck." The words fell from his lips as his eyes bored into hers.

She nodded slightly and it gave him confidence that she would be okay. Relatively speaking.

"I don't need it, but thanks," Strausser replied, assuming that it was meant for him.

"I'm sure that it's not easy to…restrain yourself so…good luck."

Strausser nodded and turned back to look down at Charlie.

Jason forced himself out of the room and once again directed all of his strength into putting one foot in front of the other, walking away from the girl that continued to haunt him.

* * *

The pain had subsided, dimming to a dull, barely perceptible throb.

If she didn't move an inch or breathe too deeply, then she didn't feel anything, almost like it hadn't happened.

She didn't know how long she'd been lying there, stretched out on her stomach on the cot in her cell, but it had been a while. No one came, though. Not to bring her food, check her wounds or to see if she was even alive. Surely someone must have known what that mad man was up to? Shouldn't someone be around to tend to prisoners after their ordeal?

Did her mother know?, she wondered. Was she worried? Did she even care?

Rachel had been there when they'd dragged her out of Monroe's office and she'd heard her call her name but since she hadn't seen hide nor hair of her since, she had to assume that she couldn't move around freely. They'd been separated for over ten years, though. The same way it felt foreign to her to think of Rachel as her mother, perhaps Rachel no longer felt like a mother herself. She'd hugged and kissed them and had looked delighted to see them but once the shock wore off, what then? Ten years was a lot of time to have to make up for. Maybe they were just too different now. Maybe too much time had passed. Maybe it was simply too late.

Maybe…

There were a lot of maybes in her life right now. Nothing was definite. She'd accomplished her goal of getting to Danny but she hadn't rescued him and doing so would be impossible on her own. With Miles and Nora injured, there was no telling when they would be able to attempt a rescue of their own. If they could at all. For all she knew, Miles had died. It seemed improbable when thinking about the man who'd built the militia from the ground up but at the end of the day, wasn't Miles just flesh and blood like the rest of them? He wasn't a God, wasn't immortal. Even he had his limitations.

And then there was Jason…

It was his fault that she was in this mess. He'd led her on then betrayed her. He'd probably told his father and Monroe everything that had happened, everything he'd seen and heard, during his time with them. Back there on the train, he'd ruined things for her. Everything had been under control until he'd shown up.

Granted, he _had_ talked his father out of shooting her. She might have been dead if not for him.

Realistically, she knew that everything that had happened would probably have played out exactly the same with or without Jason. He hadn't been the cause of her search for Danny: his father was. She'd sought Miles out because her father had told her to. And Miles was the one who'd led them on their journey, the journey that had ultimately taken them to Noblesville where the train, Neville and Danny were. At the end of the day, Jason had nothing to do with anything.

But she needed someone to blame and he was handy. If he didn't confuse her so, she might have let him off the hook. She didn't get him. He'd told her that he was just following orders, yet every time she turned around, there he was, saving her. Neville would have shot her if not for him. Even though he'd casually said that Neville could still shoot her if Monroe had no use for her, she _knew_ that he hadn't meant it. And tonight, with that sick bastard… He'd appeared, completely catching her, and Strausser, by surprise. He hadn't done anything to stop Strausser from hurting her – he _couldn't_, she understood that – but his presence had really helped. He'd distracted her from what she'd been feeling, at least as far as the pain went. Her emotions had been, and still were, a mess.

He was her enemy. The fact that they were on opposite sides of the war remained unchanging. And yet…he wasn't like his father, or Monroe, or Strausser. He wasn't cold and calculating. She didn't doubt for a moment that he could be but he didn't go out of his way to hurt or abuse people. She'd seen the fear for her in his eyes tonight, the guilt, the panic and worry. If he'd been a typical militia soldier, the kind she'd heard about for years, ruthless and unkind, he wouldn't have spared a moment's thought for her. But he had. He'd come, he'd stayed, he'd cheered her on, albeit silently. His smiles and nods of encouragement had really helped, especially every time Strausser made a fresh cut. The slices were so light and shallow that she barely felt them at first, but then the burning would begin and the more cuts he made, the more intense the burn.

"_You won't have scars,"_ he'd said casually, like they were talking about the damn weather, _"but they will itch like crazy for quite some time and if you're not careful and scratch that itch, well…let's just say it'd be a shame to ruin such pretty skin."_

Thinking about him made her tremble in disgust. The man was repulsive, clearly sick and depraved. What was Monroe doing with someone like him? Wasn't he concerned that he might not be able to control him one day? Then again, that was probably the point. He needed someone cold and heartless to carry out his evil deeds on his behalf.

Before Jason had showed up, Strausser had said some things that had really alarmed her. Being down in the dungeon alone with a psycho made her aware of her own mortality. She couldn't answer his questions because there weren't any[answers] but even if there had been, she wouldn't have told him anything. Still, the thought of being tortured to death was terrifying. As a woman, there were far more horrifying things he could do to her than slicing her arm and she didn't doubt for a second that he was fully capable of doing them. The way he looked at her when he stroked her face chilled her to the bone. For that reason, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that she'd gotten away relatively unscathed.

The door's lock broke her out of her thoughts, her body going completely still as she listened to the latch being thrown then the sound of the heavy metal creaking as it was pulled open, then closed behind whoever had entered.

There was a tense moment of silence where she wondered if her thoughts of the monster had summoned him.

"Charlie?"

Her lungs kicked into gear again, tears of relief springing to her eyes at the sound of that familiar, though unwanted, voice.

"Go away," she groaned softly, her voice husky with emotion.

Jason stood looking down at her for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. He'd stayed away for as long as he could, biding his time until Strausser and most of the senior officers had retired to their quarters before making his way to the dungeon, medical supplies in tow. Now that he was here with her, he didn't know what to say.

Forgoing words altogether, he walked to the narrow cot and lowered himself to the small space beside her hip. The fact that she hadn't moved an inch when she'd spoken worried him. Was she in that much pain?

"Are you okay?" he asked, knowing that it was a dumb question before the words even came out of his mouth.

"I'm fine," she quipped, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Just dandy. Now go away."

"Charlie, I…"

He'd shifted a bit, leaning forward to speak near her ear so that he brushed against her side and back, when he heard her sharp intake of breath.

Frowning, he pulled back slightly and looked down at her. He didn't notice it at first, looking down at her top as he was. The material was thin but he couldn't see through it to the skin beneath. It was when his gaze shifted lower to the two inch gap between the hem of her top and the waistband of her jeans that he saw the bruises.

It was his turn to gasp.

"Oh, my God, Charlie. What did he do to you?"

"Sandbags," she whispered.

"What?"

She laughed softly, a completely unexpected sound given the grimness of the atmosphere and the scene before him.

"There was this kid. About fourteen, I think. Blond hair, blue eyes. He reminded me of Danny at that age. Strausser tied me up to this rope hanging from the ceiling, then left the room. He was gone for about ten minutes and when he came back, the kid was with him. He said, _"I'm going to teach you how to play baseball. Didn't you say that you always wanted to learn?" _The kid looked at him like he was crazy, which, of course, he is, but that's beside the point. More importantly, I could tell that he was terrified. Who could blame him?"

Gently, so as not to hurt her, Jason rolled her top up to her shoulders. He expected her to protest, was pleasantly surprised when she didn't. She wasn't wearing a bra, and he was pretty sure that she had been the last time he'd seen her, so he briefly wondered who had taken it off. He hoped to God that she'd done it herself, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.

He had to bite his tongue to keep from letting loose a string of profanities when he saw the black and blue bruises coloring her back. It was a good thing that Strausser wasn't around. He definitely wouldn't have been able to stop himself from killing him if he'd set eyes on him just then.

"He hands the kid a baseball bat – it's the real thing. I've seen it before – and tells him to swing when he throws the ball. There are no balls, obviously. There haven't been for years. He tells him that the sand bag is a decent substitute, like a hackey-sack, whatever that is. The kid just stands there looking at me like he wants to cry. Strausser hits him, tells him to buck up and be a man. Ugh, if I ever get the chance, I'd love to plant my fist in his face. Among other things. Then he turns to me and says…" She laughed mirthlessly. "_"You'd better turn around before you damage your vital areas. No man is going to care what your back looks like when you're lying on it."_ Filthy, disgusting pig of a man!" she swore. "But I did as he said, not because he told me to but because he would hit the kid again if I didn't. I smiled at him, which wasn't easy with a gag in my mouth, and I tried to tell him that it was okay by nodding. Like what you did for me." She paused for a moment. "The first few tries failed and I could hear him hitting the kid. God, I wanted nothing more than to beat him senseless with that damn bat. Then he decided to demonstrate. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Not at first. But then he kept hitting the same spot over and over and the pain spread throughout my entire body. I felt like my skin was on fire and I wondered if I wasn't bleeding internally. It certainly felt like he'd hurt something inside me, I just don't know what.

By the end, when he finally cut me down, I couldn't even stand on my own. I hated that he had to help me walk, hated having his hands on me, but he just dumped me here and left, thankfully."

Jason's gut clenched as he listened to her story. Every word cut him deep, his guilt multiplying tenfold.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly.

"Why?" Charlie asked brusquely. "You didn't do this to me."

"It's my fault that you're here."

When she didn't say anything, he took her silence as an agreement.

Opening the sack he'd brought with him, he removed a container with a thick, green paste and dipped his fingers in it.

"This is going to sting a little," he warned, before proceeding to dab the smelly green ointment on her bruises. "It won't last long. The medicine has a numbing effect. It'll probably make you a little sleepy."

Charlie winced and buried her face in the thin mattress beneath her. _A little_ was an understatement. The thing burned like hell. But he was right, the sting didn't last long.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked suddenly.

Jason paused for a second before continuing his ministrations. "Doing what?"

"Helping me."

_Because I like you, Charlie. Because it's my fault that you're in this mess. Because I want to take care of you and keep you safe. Because I can't help myself even though I know that I could possibly endanger us both._

How was he honestly supposed to answer that?, he wondered.

He decided to settle for a partial truth. "It' my fault that this happened to you. I've gone over it in my head so many times. Maybe I should have thrown you off the train. It was a risk but it certainly would have been better than this."

"Why didn't you just let Neville shoot me?" she asked softly.

"I couldn't."

Again, it was the truth, simply put and as much as he was going to admit to her, _today_ at least.

Charlie wasn't stupid. It was obvious that there was more that he wasn't saying but she didn't need him to. She'd been thinking about it just before he'd come in, hadn't she? This thing between them, whatever it was, was dangerous, especially for him, yet he continued to put his life on the line to help her, to be with her. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop: another part of her hoped that he never would.

It was becoming hard to think, though. Her mind was getting kind of fuzzy. Maybe exhaustion was finally catching up with her.

"Charlie."

"Mmmm?" she murmured, nestling into the empty space between her outstretched arms.

"I'm going to get you out of this. Someway, somehow, I'm going to get you out of here. You and Danny both," he pledged.

When she didn't immediately reply, he wondered if she'd drifted off but before he could speak again, she said,

"What about my Mom?"

Jason sighed. "I'm sorry. The only time I ever see her is if she's with Monroe when Major Neville goes to see him. Even if I could get to her, it would be impossible to get her out. There's just no way."

It was no less than she'd expected. She appreciated Jason's concern and his help but he was basically telling her that she would have to choose her life, and Danny's, over her mother's if she wanted to leave. She might be struggling to feel daughterly towards the woman who had given birth to her but they were blood and she didn't have much of that left. Danny, her uncle Miles and, now, her mother were it.

Silence fell between them and Jason continued lathering the salve, coating her back liberally so that there wasn't an inch of skin showing. Satisfied that he'd done his best there, he pulled her top back down, rose and walked around to the front of the cot, squatting in front of her as he repeated the process on her scored arms.

Charlie watched him as he worked. Her eyelids felt heavy and she could barely keep them open but she held on.

He really was quite attractive. He had a strong jaw – she thought that was what they called it, all that angular sharpness – and thick, kissable lips. She probably would have blushed at that train of thought if she wasn't so sleepy. His eyes were quite pretty, though his brows were heavy so she didn't always notice that they were a light gold. His hands were large and warm where they touched her, as they should be, she supposed, since he wasn't a reptile.

Okay, her brain definitely wasn't working right. She was thinking in gibberish. What the hell was in this thing he was rubbing on her?

His task complete, Jason stood and looked down at her.

He had to get going. It was late so no one was likely to notice his lengthy stay in the dungeon but it was still dangerous. Anyone could come in at any time for any number of reasons and considering that his excuse for going to her interrogation had been to see her suffer, his not only visiting her but playing nursemaid to boot would be more than suspicious.

"If I can, I'll come back tomorrow." It was the best he could do. He'd just gotten back to town but there were problems with rebels along the southern border and more than likely, he'd be leaving again soon.

She nodded but didn't say anything, her eyes already drifting shut.

Taking that as a sign to leave, he took one last, lingering look before heading towards the door.

As he opened it, her soft, husky voice called out to him.

"Jason?"

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips.

Coming from Charlie, knowing how hard they must be to say, those words meant more than they ever would from someone else.

"You're welcome."

He stepped out into the dark hallway, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

A/N: I've been sitting on this for over a week. I dunno why this fic is making me nervous. I've written so many in the past 3yrs but this one makes me feel like a n00b. Maybe it's cuz it's not an original concept.

Or maybe my head is still twisted up over that mid-season finale. Can I just say how pissed I still am that there was no Jason whatsoever? A really good ep overall but all I wanted was a glimpse of him, is that so much to ask? I think I've read every single Charlie/Jason-Nate fic on FFN and A03. There isn't much. Is it that this pairing just doesn't appeal to people or something? I'm not surprised by the abundance of Miles/Bass fics, I mean in the finale alone the homoeroticism was off the scale and male/male fics tend to appeal to women, but there's a disconcerting amount of Miles/Charlie fics too, which just isn't my thing at all so I'm extremely deprived.

Oh, thank you for the overwhelmingly positive response. It means a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

Sebastian Monroe sat behind the large, mahogany desk in his spacious office, feeling, and looking he was sure, very much like the master of all he surveyed.

And he _was_.

He sipped on aged brandy while half-listening to Jeremy's plan to deal with the rising trouble brewing on the southern border of the Monroe Republic, relishing the rich taste even as he lamented that his supply was running low. He needed to rectify that immediately.

"I say we nip this in the bud with a full scale attack that's sure to let the bastards know that we won't tolerate this kind of provocation again; that we'll hit them _harder_ the next time; that we mean business. We're coming for them anyway but it'll expedite things if they push us into action. We can leave one or two injured alive to take back the message if need be."

Monroe cocked a brow, a lazy smile tilting his lips as he perused his friend and Captain. Jeremy had come a long way from the skittish, meek, helpless man he'd once been. Now he was just as ruthless and bloodthirsty as the rest of his men. They made him proud.

"Fine," he agreed. "I'll leave the preparations to you. Select whomever you deem fit for the job, though if I may make one suggestion? In the event of failure or a high number of casualties, I would rather you not send too many of the higher ranked officers. We have more than enough bodies to replace them, of course, but it takes years to turn them into the well-honed machines that they currently are. We do need to be practical in these matters, after all."

Jeremy nodded, suppressing the slight chill that ran down his spine. He shouldn't be surprised, _wasn't,_ in fact, after years of hearing Monroe speak thusly, but it never failed to put the fear of God, and the man, in him. He knew that it was hypocritical considering that he spared no thought for the value of the lives of the southern men whose deaths would surely be on his hands by the end of the mission but he marvelled at how easily and reasonably Monroe spoke about trading the lives of his _own_ men, as if they were nothing more than cattle.

Then again…cattle was actually more valuable.

"I'll get right on it, Sir," he said, bowing slightly.

"Oh, and Jeremy?"

The Captain inclined his head dutifully.

"Have Jade sent for, if you will."

"Yes, Sir." Once again, the Captain bowed and took his leave.

Monroe rose and walked to the window overlooking the side of the mansion. He had a great view of the town, especially the square, which was wonderfully verdant and featured many different types of flowers in bloom. He had ensured that the beauty of the town, this Utopia that he had stumbled upon and claimed as his home, his _throne_, remained intact. Just because the rest of the world had gone to hell didn't mean he couldn't still enjoy the finer, simple things in life.

There was a short knock on the door before it opened and one of the officers announced his guest. He waited until the door closed again before turning around.

A perfectly arched brow cocked in question, luminous green eyes gazing back at him, curiosity evident in their depths. "You called?"

No one else dared speak to him so casually. It was one of the intimacies one allowed one's bedmate, he supposed. In fact, he rather liked her frank way of speaking, so long as she showed him the proper respect in front of his men.

"I've a favor to ask of you," he began, walking over to lean against his desk. "More of a…request, actually."

Jade's brows furrowed, her eyes turning to narrow slits as she braced herself. "Am I allowed to refuse?"

"No," he said with a wry smile.

"Then it's more of a command, isn't it?" She walked over to his sideboard and poured herself a stiff drink. "What do you want?"

"There's a girl…"

So soon as he said _girl_, her back went ramrod straight and it was all he could do not to laugh.

Despite the fact that he'd had several lovers over the years, Jade was his longest and most frequent. As such, she had grown somewhat territorial during the course of their relationship, if one could call it that, and was always displeased whenever a new girl came into the picture, especially since he usually tried them out before sending them to her. She was the Madam of the _house of ill repute_, one might say; the mother hen who oversaw the other chicks. Despite the scandalous, less than seemly nature of her…profession, he didn't think of her as a whore and never permitted his men to refer to her and the other girls as such, at least not in his presence. Just because they used their bodies for their "work" didn't make them any less respectable or human in his eyes. Everyone had their part to play in this new world; everyone contributed what they could. They were entertainers, as far as he was concerned, and his men were more than happy to seek comfort in their arms and beds after a long day.

"A new girl? For the hotel?" she asked, her tone icy.

Monroe took a sip of his drink, smiling behind his glass as he shook his head. "No. This one is special."

She turned to look at him. "Special?"

He nodded. "Yes. She won't be joining you and the other girls. She'll be staying right here, under this roof." When her teeth clenched and her fingers tightened around the glass, her knuckles bone white, he chuckled and decided to put her out of her misery. "Simmer down. She's not for me. There's someone else far more deserving."

Jade frowned. "But…"

"Like I said," he interrupted, "she's special. I have something in mind but I need your help. Or rather, she will." He filled her in on the details of what he required, leaving no stone unturned. "I'll handle everything else, you just take care of her."

"Does she know…?" She allowed the question to trail off.

"No, and I imagine that she won't be too happy once she finds out. You may want to watch yourself around her. She's got claws and I wouldn't put it past her to try to take a chunk – or two – out of you."

The way he said it was almost gleeful, with respect and admiration even, causing a lump of apprehension to form in her throat.

Jade nodded slowly, wondering what kind of animal Monroe had dragged into the town this time. He, like most men, didn't see women as much of a threat, though he didn't deny or ignore their intelligence at least, but she was of the opinion that he would one day live to regret the arrogance of his oversight.

"Where is she?" she inquired.

"The dungeon," he replied calmly.

She gasped and, once again, Jade wondered what was wrong with the girl. She had never heard of a woman being taken to the dungeon before, which wasn't to say that it hadn't happened, she'd just never heard about it in all the years that she'd been there. Women usually crumbled at Monroe's feet once he turned on the charm so the girl must be a real hard ass if she required such harsh treatment. Or, as she'd previously thought, maybe she was just uncivilized. There'd been many reports of children growing up like wild animals in the woods over the years, orphans with no parents or adults to raise them properly. Perhaps the poor girl was simply a victim of her circumstances. Given her own history, she could empathize.

"I'll have my men escort you."

Jade nodded and walked to the door, waiting for Monroe to dispatch his men with their orders before following them to the unknown depths of the mansion.

* * *

Charlie stirred, coming awake slowly, limb by limb.

She couldn't remember ever having slept so soundly. What the hell was in that thing that Jason had rubbed on her? She'd tried to wake up a couple of times, especially when she'd heard the heavy iron door opening, but just as she surfaced, she would be sucked back down into unconsciousness. She had to admit, however, that other than the raging hunger that tore at her stomach, she felt great. There wasn't an inch of her body that throbbed or burned anymore and her mind was alert, her memories sharp and in focus, so she didn't suffer even the tiniest amount of disorientation despite having been abed for two days if the trays of food on the ground inside her door were any indication.

_Why had the idiot who brought it not taken the previous trays away?_, she wondered with mild disgust. _How wasteful._

She sat up and raked a hand through her unruly hair, plaiting it in a messy braid. It felt dirty, as did she considering that she also hadn't bathed in days. It was a personal record, that's for sure. At least on the outside she could've taken a quick dip in a stream or at least washed halfway. When was Monroe going to let her out? She assumed that he was satisfied with the results of her interrogation since there hadn't been a round two.

Sighing, she leaned back against the stone wall.

She hadn't had any personal contact for days. Granted, she had been asleep but even so, if her mother or brother had visited, she was sure that she would have heard them. Jason too. He would definitely have woken her.

_Speaking of…_

Why hadn't he come to see her? After he'd gone out of his way to be there with her, _for_ her, during Strausser's interrogation, after he'd patched her up, he'd all but forgotten her it seemed. Why had he bothered in the first place if he wasn't going to check up on her to make sure that she'd recovered? What was his intention anyway? Was he just helping her to gain her trust? Did he think that she could be useful in finding Miles? Had Monroe put him up to it?

It was easy to think negatively of him once there was distance between them, she realized, but even as she asked herself those questions, she knew that they didn't add up. For one thing, he'd been sent to find Miles, not her. Kidnapping Danny would have – and _had_ – been more than enough of an incentive to get Miles' attention. Secondly, he'd saved her on several occasions. That could have been part of some huge, nefarious plan except that in order to save her, he'd had to put his own life on the line several times. Even if he was well trained and confident, which he certainly was, so many things could have gone wrong. Lastly, and the most telling: he'd defied his father for her. For _her_. If that didn't say something about him then she didn't know what did.

But what did it _mean_?

They were attracted to each other, there was no doubt about that. She'd have to be blind not to see the desire in his eyes when he looked at her and she'd never been one to lie to herself but they knew, he had to just as surely as she did, that nothing could ever come of it, especially now that she was Monroe's prisoner. _He_ had brought her here. She should hate him for that but she didn't. She knew that in doing so he had saved her life. It seemed a never-ending cycle, his being her knight in not-so-shining armour.

Sighing again, she dropped her head into her hands. Sleep had given her a reprieve from all of this useless thinking. Life had been so much simpler when they'd been out in the woods. Maybe if they'd stayed there, something could have happened between her and Jason. If they'd avoided the towns, and the people that came with them, and stuck to the privacy of the country, anything would have been possible. Maybe…

The key turning in the lock broke her concentration and she sat up straight, eyes trained on the door.

Her eyes widened in surprise when a curvy redhead walked in, a faint scowl making her full, blood-red lips look like she was sucking on something sour.

Jade was more than a little surprised herself when she finally set eyes upon her charge. For one thing, the girl was startlingly pretty. Even covered in muck – when was the last time she'd bathed for heaven's sake? – and sporting faint scratches on her dirt-covered arms, courtesy of one of Monroe's men she had no doubt, she was still lovely. She was also young and had a sort of sweet innocence about her, her wide blue eyes begging to be trusted and protected. She didn't look like a troublemaker so what had she done to wind up here?

Feeling marginally less irritable than when she'd walked in, Jade approached the girl. "Hello."

"Who are you?" Charlie asked, her tone none too friendly, eyes wary.

"Jade." She smiled slightly. "A friend."

"I highly doubt that," Charlie muttered.

_Okay, then._ "Listen, kid, do you want to get out of here or not? I'm perfectly okay with leaving you here but if you'd like a hot bath and a decent meal, zip those lips and follow me. The choice is yours."

She turned on her heels – which Charlie was surprised to notice were literally high-heels of the girlie-girl variety – and walked out the door.

Cursing mentally, Charlie rose and followed sullenly. The prospect of a bath and warm food were too good to pass up. Also, if she refused, she had no idea when next she would be given the chance to get out of the dungeon. If she wanted to find a way off of the compound, or at least be prepared for Miles when he eventually showed up, she would have to rein in her temper and trick Monroe and his men into thinking that she was harmless. They probably already did. She'd noticed the lack of female officers in the militia, the few she'd seen only performing menial tasks like watering the horses, etc. Clearly the Monroe Republic did not believe in equality.

Her eyes fell on the woman in front of her.

She, Jade, was quite attractive with her glowing green eyes that reminded Charlie of a cat and her flaming red hair. Her clothes, however…Charlie hadn't seen an outfit like that before. Her dress was extremely short, had a plunging neckline and fitted like a second skin, showing her curves and long legs to their best advantage, and the strappy heels on her feet, which Charlie had only ever seen in old fashion magazines, gave her a sensual air while still maintaining a sort of regal posture. Who was she exactly? An officer's wife? Obviously she was someone important but all of the other non-militia women she'd seen had been dressed in elegant suits. The type that Jason's mother had worn, for example. She'd only gotten a brief glimpse of the woman but it had been enough to see the resemblance. That and Neville's actually warm, genuine smile when he'd looked at her. Even beasts had tame, even happy, moments, she supposed.

They were up in the mansion now, walking through the downstairs hallways. She finally realized that the guard who had been escorting them had been replaced by another. She didn't bother looking around like she had the day she'd been brought there, focusing instead on the woman in front of her. What was she up to?

The guard stopped at a door and opened it.

Jade stepped in and Charlie followed feeling suddenly uneasy when the door closed and locked behind her. Had she traded one prison for another?

As it turned out, her new _prison_ was a good-sized, elegantly appointed bedroom. It looked like one of the model rooms she'd seen in housekeeping magazines, matching furniture and everything. There were several closed doors – the closet and bathroom perhaps? – but the highlight of the room was the large bed. It looked quite inviting, she had to admit, especially after all the nights she'd spent sleeping on the hard ground out in the woods.

"Mind telling me what's going on?" she asked, striving for nonchalance.

Jade was standing at a vanity table, arranging an assortment of small pots and brushes. "You're having dinner tonight, with someone very important I'm told. I've been instructed to help you get ready."

"Monroe?" Charlie inquired, unimpressed. Who could be more important than the General himself?

Jade glanced at her over her shoulder. "As it happens, no. I don't know who he is so don't bother asking again but it's not the General. He must be important for him to go to these lengths, though."

Charlie frowned, her unease increasing. Who could Monroe possibly want to impress and why was he sending _her_ instead of some other person like… Her eyes focused on Jade, a new light of awareness shining in their blue depths as realization hit.

_Oh…_

"What is it that you do here?" she asked casually.

Jade smirked. "Like you don't already know."

Charlie nodded lamely and left it at that. What could she say? She didn't like to judge people. She knew that after the blackout a lot of women had been forced into selling their bodies out of desperation. Sex was a commodity that was always in demand. Perhaps Jade was merely a victim of circumstance.

"The bathroom's through there," Jade said briskly, pointing at a door as she handed her a silky black robe. "Everything you need should be in there. Make use of it." Her eyes travelled pointedly over Charlie's grimy form. "_All_ of it."

Weathering the insult – she could hardly argue when she'd been thinking the same thing a short while ago – Charlie accepted the robe and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She made a quick sweep of her surroundings, noting that there was a small window above the tub – barred, naturally – before divesting her clothes and slipping into the steaming water.

_Ahh…heaven._

As she took her time bathing, savouring the rare luxury, she considered her options. Though her body and mind were rested, her spirit was weary. Would it be so bad, she wondered diplomatically, to take advantage of what Monroe offered? She wasn't giving up, and she sure as hell had no intention of staying there permanently, but with Danny safe and having been reunited with her mother, another reason to stick around, she had little will to fight. Her adrenaline, her _motivation_, had finally run out. Perhaps enjoying Monroe's hospitality for a while wouldn't be such a bad thing. In fact, if she played her cards right, she might be able to learn the inner workings of the militia and discover any plans that might be in progress, which would undoubtedly be of some help when Miles finally showed up. Her uncle wasn't dead, she was sure of it, but there was no way of knowing when he would appear since she didn't know the extent of his injury. Therefore, while she waited, she couldn't think of any reason why she shouldn't make the best of having a roof over her head, a bed to sleep in and warm baths at the snap of her fingers. Well…she didn't know if it would be that easy but the fact that Danny and her mother didn't reside in the dungeon was promising.

And then, there was Jason…

Shaking her head, she focused her thoughts on the task at hand: she used the sharp blade that had been provided for a quick shave, washed her hair and soaped and scrubbed her body until her skin was bright pink, the thin, light scars on her forearms standing out white against the flushed background. Her anger flared for a brief moment but she swallowed it down. She would make Strausser pay for what he'd done. Before she left, she had to get even.

Satisfied that she was as clean as could be, she nimbly climbed out of the tub and towelled off before slipping into the red robe. She was somewhat scandalized by how short it was, barely reaching the tops of her thighs, and it clung to her figure in an obscene imitation of Jade's dress. For the first time since she'd been informed of what lay ahead for her that night, fear pricked at her usually stalwart defences. Had she finally gotten herself into a situation that she couldn't handle?

Swallowing the panic that threatened to rise, she walked back into the bedroom to find Jade sorting through a selection of dresses on the bed.

Hearing Charlie enter, Jade turned towards her.

_Damn_, she thought. She looked even younger now that she was clean. Sexy, but incredibly young and untried.

Her conscience rarely ever bothered her but she felt like she was sending a lamb to the slaughter. She could only hope that whoever the man was that Monroe had deemed worthy of the girl, he wasn't the worst that there was. Levels of evil existed in the militia. She knew all too well just how cruel some of the officers could be. She only prayed that the girl wouldn't befall the same fate that some of the girls at the _hotel_ had.

Forcing a smile, she gestured Charlie forward. "Much better. Finally, something I can work with."

Charlie blushed and walked towards Jade but when Jade reached for the knot of her robe, she leapt backwards.

"What are you doing?" she screeched.

"Helping. I'm going to rub a fragrant oil into your skin."

"I can do it myself," Charlie replied quickly.

"We're both women. You have nothing that I haven't already seen, trust me."

"If it's all the same to you…"

Rolling her eyes, Jade handed her the oil and watched as she hurriedly applied it to the parts of her limbs that weren't hidden beneath the robe: elbow to wrist, thigh to ankle.

"And the rest?" Jade prompted with a wickedly arched brow. "Head to toe, my dear."

Blushing furiously, Charlie turned her back to Jade, undid the sash of the robe and quickly oiled her chest and torso. It felt weird to touch herself with the slippery, nauseatingly sweet substance, especially knowing what it was for: part and parcel of the art of seduction.

_I can't believe I'm going through with this. I should've brought the house down with my screams by now._

Truthfully, she had no intention of letting the man, whoever he was, have his way with her. She didn't really prize her virginity, had never given it much consideration since it had never needed considering, but having it be traded or sold, by Monroe of all people, to some stranger was simply not going to happen. However, since she'd decided to be compliant in an effort to gain freedom, she couldn't so much as hint that she wasn't planning to play along. Once she got to wherever she was going, she would figure something out. If she was lucky, the man wouldn't be a total ogre and might even be sympathetic to her plight. If she had to turn on the _little girl lost_ charm to sway him then she would weep and whimper like there was no tomorrow. But if he turned out to be Strausser or someone like him, well…she was well and truly screwed.

"Are we done being bashful now?" Jade asked.

Charlie nodded, handing her back the bottle of oil.

"Superb." She threw a scrap of lace at her. "Put this on."

Charlie caught and looked at the minuscule triangle dubiously. "What is it?"

Jade frowned. "Seriously? Where did they find you, a nunnery?"

When Charlie made no response, Jade lifted her dress to her waist and revealed a similar piece of lace, covering the apex of her thighs but completely exposing her curvaceous backside.

Charlie's eyes all but fell out of their sockets.

"You know what? Nevermind. You don't need it." Jade straightened her clothes, took the thong back and picked up the dress she'd selected, handing it to Charlie. "I wasn't sure what look to go for. You've got a very nice body, there's no doubt about it, but you've also got that innocent quality that men like. It's kind of hard to know what this guy is going to like since I have no idea who he is. It usually helps to know what the client's preferences are." At Charlie's panicked expression, she quickly clarified her phrasing. "Not a client, poor choice of words. You aren't…like me. And after tonight, you're still not going to be so don't worry about that. What I meant was that with men, or women, if you're to please someone…sexually, it helps to know things about them. Their likes and dislikes, interests, etc. Anyway, I hardly think it'll matter. Once he sees you, it won't matter what he thinks he likes. You'll automatically be it."

Though Jade smiled reassuringly, it didn't give Charlie the slightest bit of ease and she had to remind herself that she would have complete control of the situation once she and whoever he was were alone together. She was fairly good at reading people, Jason being her only slip-up – or was he? – so she was confident that she would be able to tell what kind of person the man was so soon as she saw him. After that, it was only a matter of figuring out the best way to manipulate him. She didn't like the idea of using someone but both her life and virtue were on the line. She would deal with her guilty conscience when she was far away from Monroe's compound.

"Hurry, he's expecting you shortly," Jade prompted.

Charlie awkwardly slipped into the dress, trying her best to cover her private parts with the robe while sheathing her body in the unfamiliar piece of clothing. She didn't really consider herself a tomboy but she hadn't worn a dress since she was a little girl, it simply hadn't been practical, and definitely not one as fitted and revealing as this. It took some doing, with Jade glaring at her the entire time, but she eventually managed to shimmy her way into it. She turned to look at herself in the mirror and gasped.

"It's amazing the difference the right dress can make, isn't it?" Jade asked with a smile, understanding in her eyes. "Is this your first time?"

Charlie nodded, eyes still transfixed on her reflection. She'd never really seen her body as more than a vessel, a container that her mind resided in. It was its home. She clothed and fed it, treated and medicated it when it was hurt or in pain, but that was the extent of her connection to her corporeal self. Now, looking at it encased in the red and black lace, she had to admit that it was…attractive. There'd never been room for vanity in her community, looks having no real measure or value, but she'd always liked her eyes and knew that they were striking. She took some pride in her hair as well. She'd never given any thought to whether she had any sex appeal, however. At least, not until she'd met Jason. He was the first guy she'd ever known who made her feel things, unexplainable things, and she liked it. He saw her as a woman, and now she finally looked and felt like one. She briefly wondered what he would think if he saw her looking like this but then remembered that she wasn't getting dolled up for him, which immediately doused her brief excitement.

Stifling a sigh, she turned to Jade. "What next?"

"Hair."

She was ushered into the chair in front of the vanity and Jade immediately got to work. Charlie's hair was a tangled mess and by the time Jade finished combing and brushing it out, her face was flushed a deep red from the effort it took to keep in her cries of pain.

"You never did tell me your name, you know," Jade commented, trying to distract the girl while she began styling the damp, honeyed hair.

"Charlie," she gritted, wincing as a hairpin stabbed her in the scalp.

"Sorry," Jade apologized quickly. "What were you doing in the dungeon, Charlie? Monroe doesn't usually lock women up as far as I know."

Charlie briefly considered keeping her mouth shut but didn't think it really mattered who knew why she was there. In a compound this remote, rumors were sure to abound. There probably wasn't any such thing as privacy.

"He thought – or maybe it was more of a _hope_ – that I had information that would be valuable to him and didn't trust my word that I didn't so he decided that a little interrogation might do the trick." She shrugged carelessly, though looking back she could now admit that she'd been terrified. "It didn't matter what the pig he sent did to me, I really had nothing to tell."

Jade frowned. "Pig?"

"Strausser," Charlie snarled, as if the name was as disgusting as the man himself.

A shudder ran down Jade's spine. She'd never had dealings with the man personally but she had seen what he was capable of, had heard even worse stories, so she knew how lucky Charlie had been to escape their encounter with nothing more than a few scrapes on her arms.

"You were lucky," she said aloud, voicing her thoughts. "It could have been much worse."

Charlie met her eyes in the vanity's mirror. "Do you know him?"

"_Of_ him. I've seen him around, of course, but never had the misfortune of experiencing his particular brand of pain…or pleasure. Which amounts to the same, as it turns out."

It was Charlie's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

Jade laid down the brush in her hand, her expression troubled. "He's a very cruel man. My girls…they're grateful to General Monroe for what he's done for them, providing a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. Our line of work isn't ideal, it's not what any girl grows up dreaming of, but things changed when the blackout happened. Dreams became a luxury, one that most of us can't afford. For the most part, the officers are nice. There's the occasional bastard and if I can't handle them myself, I don't hesitate to report them to the General because he treats us like people, like we matter. But there are a few who we're forced to…tolerate, _endure_, because they're important to the General and if they're important to him then they're important to us. Strausser is one of them. Unfortunately, pain _is_ pleasure to him. He can't differentiate between the two. He's a sick, twisted, evil man and if I could kill him with my bare hands for what he's done…" She broke off and took a deep breath to calm herself. "General Monroe won't allow me to ban him from the hotel altogether but he did warn him not to damage the goods, so to speak. It doesn't matter if he doesn't injure or scar the girls, though. They're terrified of him nonetheless. The only silver lining is that his visits are few and far between. He gets off on pain and blood and since he's prohibited from harming the girls in any way, they just aren't as appealing to him anymore." She forced a smile. "Thank God for small mercies, huh?" Her smile fell. "At least we're alive to talk about it, unlike his poor wife."

Charlie gasped. "Wife? He was married?"

Jade nodded. "It's not easy being a woman, Charlie. In here, there are only three types: the officers, who are little more than errand boys because they aren't considered strong enough to be real soldiers; my girls and I, who you already know about; and the officer's wives. The last may sound like the best position to be in but in my opinion, it's the worst. Have you seen them? The ladies walking around like they own the place, with their elegant clothes, their pretty little houses, including house-staff which is another category but no different than the errand boys if you ask me. From the outside, it seems perfect and it is so long as their husbands remain in the General's good graces. However, if their husbands' fortune changes, so does theirs.

Strausser's wife was actually the wife of one of General Monroe's most trusted men but he was killed during a raid a couple of years ago. Monroe allowed her to grieve for all of a week before he promoted someone else to her husband's position and gave him all that came with it, which included the house that she lived in. If she'd at least had children, she might have gotten to keep it but she didn't. She wasn't a young, nubile woman either so she didn't have a lot of options. I offered to let her move into the hotel and work for us as a housekeeper, maybe service any officers who were willing to have her if she wanted. I could see that she thought the prospect horrifying but I wasn't offended and I felt sorry for her, you know? But then, along comes Strausser and offers to marry her. Which would you rather do, Charlie? Live in a whore house or marry a madman?"

"Whore house," Charlie replied quickly.

Jade chuckled. "See, _we_ know what kind of man he is. I don't think she did. She'd probably heard stories but it's easy for these society wives – that's what I call them – to forget that life isn't as peachy as it may appear. After being here for a while, living their worry free lives, they start to believe this illusion that Monroe has created for them. His dream, his utopia, becomes their reality. But when the bubble bursts and the real world barges in, they have no idea how to cope. Strausser wasn't an ideal candidate for a husband, and I'm sure she was terrified, but he was a _man_, one in good standing with Monroe, and I think that she thought it was her only real option." Her expression turned serious, mouth settling into grim lines. "She was dead a week later. Jumped out the second floor window. No one knows what kind of hell she'd endured but I can imagine, knowing what I do now."

Charlie swallowed the lump in her throat, heart thumping rapidly in her chest. She'd known that Strausser was wicked and ruthless but to really hear the atrocities that he was capable of made her realize how narrowly she'd escaped. If Monroe hadn't ordered him to take it easy and he'd been left to his own devices, who knew what condition she'd be in.

Jade returned to her hair, continuing where she'd left off. After that, she turned to the brightly colored pots and "fixed" Charlie's face, as she put it.

When she was done, Charlie stood in front of the mirror perusing her reflection. She barely recognized herself. Or rather, she saw herself but she looked and felt…enhanced somehow. Her hair had been piled atop her head in a loose bun of sorts, with wispy tendrils at her neck and temples. Her cheeks had a rosy hue and her lips were painted a deep red, which matched the crimson background of the dress. Her blue eyes were accentuated with black eyeliner, or kohl Jade had called it, and smoky black/grey eye shadow, which complemented the lacy black brocade over the red of the dress. The deep neckline revealed the upper swells of her breasts. She blushed and had to resist the urge to cover her chest with her hands.

"Here," Jade said, drawing her attention. "Try walking in these."

Charlie slipped her feet into red pumps and wobbled around the room until she caught her stride. The arches of her feet ached, though, so she hoped that wherever she was going wasn't too far.

Jade gave her an assessing head-to-toe sweep before nodding her head, seemingly pleased with what she saw.

"You'll do," she announced. "Men tend to like long, flowing hair when they're…in the mood, something to hold onto, I guess, so if you want, you can just pull out a couple of pins and it'll all come tumbling down. The dress is easy to get out of as well, or you can untie these bows," she touched Charlie's shoulders, "if you want to draw it out a little longer, maybe make it more flirty and sexy." When Charlie's eyes widened at the word _sexy_, she hastily added, "Or not."

Charlie gulped, her nerves suddenly kicking in again.

"Look, Charlie…" Jade paused and she seemed to be debating whether to continue. "I don't know who you are or why you're here but since you _are_ here, I think you should do whatever's necessary to make it as easy for yourself as possible. I don't know who this man is or what he wants from you, what Monroe wants from you, but if he's a nice guy…Maybe you should make the best of it? I didn't really have a choice and sometimes I wish I had.

I wasn't always the person you see before you, you know. I was once just as innocent and full of ideals as you are. I grew up in a small town and I loved my life and my family but I always dreamed of moving to the big city, experiencing all the things I had only seen on TV. I wanted to be a teacher so after college, I went to Chicago and took up a post teaching literature to high-schoolers. It was everything I'd hoped it would be. I had friends, a great job, I loved my students. I even met a cute guy that I thought could be the one. And then…the blackout happened. You would have been too young to remember but chaos descended, Charlie. It was like the world had gone crazy. Widespread panic brings out the animal in supposedly civilized people. I tried to get home but with no cars, buses, trains or planes, walking was the only option and it was nigh impossible. That didn't stop me from trying, though. It was while I was on the road that I realized how ugly society had become. It was especially dangerous if you were a woman and on your own. The lowest of the low, the miscreants who'd been forced to lay low in the face of the law, now ruled the streets. I held out for as long as I could but with no food or permanent shelter, I realized that I needed help. Occasionally, I'd come across a kind soul, maybe a sympathetic family, but mostly there were opportunists and there wasn't much that I had to offer.

I hated it at first, hated myself even more, but then I realized that it gave me a sort of power. It wasn't the kind of power I would have chosen but power is power, you just need to know how to use it to your advantage. From the beginning, I was very discriminating. Not just anyone would do. If this was the world that I was being forced to live in, then I would make it into what I wanted it to be. I only did it out of necessity at first, just for the bare minimum to get by, then I met a lady who ran a house, much like the one I do now. She didn't pretend to be my friend or my mother. She was very blunt and businesslike and I admired that about her. She didn't promise me things that she knew she couldn't deliver and I appreciated that. The worst thing you could ever have under such circumstances is someone filling your mind with dreams and false hope. I stayed with her for many years, until trouble came. Until _Monroe_ came and literally blew the doors off. We were lucky to escape with our lives. I set out on my own for a while again and lo and behold, who did I come across a few years later? Sebastian Monroe himself. I'd thought I hated him, for ruining what had been a comfortable and lucrative situation for me, but there's something about him that prevents you from truly hating him." At Charlie's raised brow, she clarified, "Well…it did for me anyway. We had an affair and when the time came for him to leave the area, he invited me to come with him. I turned him down." She smiled. "He's not a man who's used to hearing _no_ and that was probably why I said it. I lived to talk about it at least. But after a while on my own again, I decided that I needed a break and maybe it wouldn't be so bad being one of Monroe's girls. It's safer, if nothing else. I showed up here one day and, thankfully, he remembered me and wasn't too bitter about my turning him down. It may be hard to believe but he can actually be nice sometimes." She shrugged.

"What happened to your friends?" Charlie asked suddenly. "And that guy…?"

Jade shook her head. "I don't know. When the world went dark, we were all stuck in our immediate surroundings, our immediate families and neighbours were all that we had. Everyone was afraid to venture too far from home. That's one downside of city life that I'd never considered, Charlie. We were entirely too reliant on modern conveniences and the ones closest to us weren't necessarily in close physical proximity. When supplies began to run out, we had no choice but to go out into the unknown. By then, the criminal elements had started invading the quiet, respectable neighbourhoods, terrifying people simply because they could."

"Did you ever make it home?"

Jade shook her head again. "No. I came close but I hated what I'd become, what I'd been forced to do to get there, and I didn't think I could look in my parents' eyes and pretend to be the daughter they'd raised when I didn't know who I was anymore." She laughed mirthlessly. "It's funny that all I ever dreamt about was moving to the big city but as soon as the dream shattered, what I wanted most was to go home. No matter what we think we want, home is always our first choice for refuge when times get tough. I like to think that maybe one day, when the lights come back on, Jade can die a respectable death and Carrie-Lee Fisher can go back home with her head held high." She smiled ruefully. "One day."

Charlie returned her smile but she was gripped by a strange sadness. She understood Jade's – Carrie-Lee's – desire to see the world beyond her street since she too had longed to get out of the safety of her community and experience what else the world had to offer but she realized now that her father might have been right. It was ugly out there and she'd been little prepared for it. Without Aaron and Maggie, and certainly without Jason dogging her steps, who knew what fate could have befallen her before she'd even found Miles? All things considered, she'd been very lucky.

"What I'm trying to say, Charlie," Jade continued, "is that maybe it wouldn't be so bad being someone's kept woman. For your sake, I hope that he's your idea of Prince Charming and that he falls under your spell and sweeps you off your feet. If he doesn't but he's still a decent guy, you should really consider sinking your claws into him before someone else gets the chance. If he's important enough for Monroe to go to these lengths then it's something you should take seriously. If I were in your shoes, I would."

Charlie's first instinct was to refute such a possibility. She was Charlie Matheson, _Miles Matheson's_ niece. She was worth more to Monroe than these other girls, girls like Jade. But she stopped herself, forced to look at the situation she was currently in. What was she really worth if Monroe had no qualms about sending her off to one of his buddies like some prized pet? It didn't matter how important the guy was, she had basically been categorized as another of Monroe's tools to be used as he saw fit.

A knock at the door disrupted her thoughts and Jade looked her over one last time before nodding her approval.

"Time to go," she declared. She walked to the table and picked something up before turning to Charlie. "I could really get in trouble for this but… Come here."

Charlie walked forward and saw that Jade held a pair of ornamental sticks that reminded her of chopsticks.

Jade quickly reached up and slid them into Charlie's hair in the shape of an X. She looked Charlie dead in the eyes as she said, "I take no responsibility for anything you may or may not do with those. Only use them if you absolutely must. And make sure you mean it. You won't have a second chance if the first jab isn't hard enough. A quick knee in the groin and these in his eyes should do the trick. You won't kill him but he'll have other things on his mind if nothing else. Now let's go."

She turned Charlie towards the door and ushered her forward. She was just about to open it when Charlie came to an abrupt stop.

"Wait!" She turned towards Jade. "I can't go out there like this. I don't want anyone seeing me this way. Don't you have a coat or something?"

She looked imploringly at Jade and the redhead rolled her eyes in response.

Stomping back to the bed, Jade rifled through the pile of clothes and pulled something out, flinging it at Charlie.

Charlie looked at the flimsy, transparent material in her hands in absolute horror. "This? But it's even more revealing than the dress."

"It's either that or the robe," Jade said.

In the end, Charlie went with the robe.

Walking through the house was mortifying. Though the guards didn't move, Charlie could feel their eyes on her, like unwelcome fingers skittering along her flesh.

She breathed a small sigh of relief when they came to a stop outside of a door on the second floor. At least she didn't have to leave the mansion itself. That was mildly comforting.

Jade placed a hand on the door knob and turned to her. "Good luck, Charlie," she said sincerely. With a quick turn of her wrist, she opened the door, nudging Charlie in as soon as the space was wide enough.

Standing just inside the door, Charlie took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before looking up but so soon as she laid eyes on who awaited her, the colour drained from her face and her stomach sank.

"Oh, God."

* * *

A/N: First off, apologies for taking this long to update. It wasn't my intention. I guess my motivation kind of ran out. I've re-watched each episode so many times and it's finally coming back this month, but in the interim, the motivation just wasn't there, even though I'm still inspired to write the story. From now on, I'm going to TRY to update every 2/3 weeks. There'll be at least one chapter a month in any event.

Now, onto more important things: the preview for the second half of the season. Finally more Charlie/Jason interaction! I don't expect their tragic Romeo & Juliet-style romance to overshadow the show but I do hope they finally bump it up and make it into something feasible. I know someone is supposed to die and I'm just hoping it isn't Jason. That will piss me off like nothing else.

As for this chapter, it's not perfect (far from) but it's sort of transitional. Chapters 3+4 are really one long chapter that I decided to split up so chapter 4 will continue directly where chapter 3 ended. That should be up in a few days.


	4. Chapter 4

Jason stood at the window, looking out at the darkness beyond.

There were torches every thirty feet or so, where streetlights would have been, and from the glow of those torches he could see officers strolling along the sidewalks. Patrols were scheduled 24/7 but they were heaviest at night. General Monroe didn't believe in taking chances. Besides, while the higher-ranked officers were ensconced in their warm homes with their families, or dallying at the hotel with their flavor of the week, it gave the untried members of the militia the opportunity to cut their teeth, to prove their worth. And in the case of an attack, their cries and subsequent deaths would serve as a warning to the ones whose lives actually meant something. Win-win.

Turning back to face the luxurious bedroom, he sighed.

It had been a long day and he wanted nothing more than a bath and his bed. After spending hours in meetings, planning for the his company's next move and the information-gathering excursion he would be setting out on solo the following morning, the last thing he needed or wanted was to entertain or be entertained. He'd been more than a little surprised when, on his way out of the meeting, a private had approached and informed him that the General requested an audience with him. When Monroe called, you answered so, naturally, he'd gone along obediently, following the private to the General's mansion. He'd assumed that he would be led up to Monroe's office on the third floor but the private had turned on the second floor landing and headed down a hall that Jason had never before ventured. Usually, it was up to Monroe's office for a briefing or orders then back down the stairs and out the front door for him. He'd never worked in the mansion, having always been under his father's command, so this change in routine piqued his curiosity. When the private finally came to a stop at a door and threw it open, Jason had taken one look inside and known that something was up. His questions to the private had only been met with _"Just following orders, Sir"_ and being the _good ole boy_ that he too was, he'd been quietly and patiently waiting in the room ever since.

An hour had passed now and his patience was beginning to fray. What the hell was going on here? He could make sense of being sent to the library or any other room in the house but a bedroom? Monroe's question about a "reward" for a job well done came back to him and he briefly wondered if _this_ was it. A night in the mansion? Or could it be…Was Monroe going to send one of the girls from the hotel to him? He hoped not. Although he'd told Monroe that he needed no reward, he imagined that the man would do what he wanted if he was of a mind to. His father certainly wouldn't have suggested something like that, knowing him as he did, but what else could it be? Nothing else made sense. And with the exception of a couple of housemaids who'd rolled in a small dinner table five minutes ago, with no explanation naturally, he'd seen and spoken to no one so his questions remained unanswered.

The day's fatigue was starting to wear him down and if he didn't get out of there soon, or his _guest/host_ didn't show up, he might very well make use of the bed for a little nap.

Sighing again, he turned back to the window and allowed his mind to drift. He didn't know how long he stood there, staring out at the silver dotted sky, but he'd just begun to plan his movements for the following day when there was a sharp rap of knuckles followed by the opening of the door.

Turning around, he froze where he stood, his heart coming to a skidding halt as his eyes bulged, refusing to believe what they beheld.

"Charlie?"

* * *

"Jason?"

At the sound of his name, Jason's heart skipped a beat. It had been two days since he'd seen her and he'd started to think he might never see her again. He'd been busy with strategy meetings and when he did have free time, he'd been unable to think of a reason plausible enough to visit her. There were no other detainees in the dungeon so he really had no business being down there and had he attempted to visit her without permission, red flags would have been raised. The fact that she now stood before him, scantily clad to boot, was a red flag in and of itself. His father knew of his feelings for her but apparently so did Monroe.

Charlie almost lost her footing, stumbling as she walked into the room, shocked at who her dinner date was despite the pleasant warmth spreading throughout her chest.

"Ahh, so you two know each other," Jade purred behind her.

Jason's eyes swung towards the voice, narrowing. He recognized the woman as the head of the hotel girls. Rumour had it that she had a special relationship with Monroe, as in she served no one but him unless he told her to.

Jason couldn't help noticing the startling difference between the two women. Charlie looked sexy, as she was supposed to, and any man who didn't know her would see only what he was supposed to: inviting, nubile flesh. Jason, however, could see the tell-tale signs of insecurity and naiveté in the way she fingered the short hem of the dress, how she wobbled in the high heels as she shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. Jade on the other hand wore her clothes like battle armor, confidence oozing from every inch of her. Her striking green eyes were fierce, made more so by the emphasis of the make-up. She looked like she could chew a man up and spit him out and he could see why that would appeal to Monroe. He might take kindly to flattery but only a woman as tough and challenging as he was would truly rev his engine.

"Well, that makes my job a lot easier," Jade continued. She stepped aside as two maids came in with silver-covered trays and a bucket of champagne, set them on table, then left as quietly as they'd come. "Have fun, kids. Don't do anything I wouldn't." With a cheeky wink, she slinked out the door and shut it behind her.

In the silence that followed, there was the unmistakable click of the key in the lock. Neither one paid any attention to it, though. Getting out was the furthest thing from either of their minds.

Clearing his throat, Jason took a couple of steps forward. "You look…" She looked _what_?, he chided himself. Hot, yes. Sexy, _hell_ yes. That she stirred things of a carnal nature within him went without saying. But she wasn't just a piece of meat to him and none of those descriptions felt right on his tongue. "…nice," he finally finished.

Ignoring the flush in her face, Charlie made her way further into the room, halting beside the table.

"So _you're_ the big…whatever that Monroe wants to impress?" she asked coldly. She couldn't believe how happy – not to mention relieved – she was to see Jason, but she felt betrayed for some reason. That he hadn't come to see her in two days she could forgive but if he was important enough for Monroe to go to such lengths then he definitely wasn't someone she should trust. Or have feelings for.

Jason shook his head. "I don't know what he…said or why he did this. I'm as surprised to see you as you are to see me," he explained. "In fact, I was surprised to be called here at all. I thought I was coming to meet _him_ but they locked me in here instead. I was about ready to climb into bed and…"

At the mention of the bed, which suddenly appeared larger than life, hot colour speared both their cheeks.

"Um…yeah." Clearing his throat again, Jason closed the distance between them. "But I'm glad you're here. I've been…thinking about you."

Charlie frowned. "You didn't come back. After that night, you never came back. I could've died for all you knew."

"I wanted to, trust me I did, but I couldn't do anything that might draw attention. Around here, it's better not to show that you care about or have an interest in anything. Or anyone."

Charlie couldn't argue with that. She remembered Sam saying that he shouldn't have been as open and friendly with her as he had been and she imagined that it applied to everyone, no matter their rank or connections.

"How've you been?" Jason asked softly.

Charlie glanced down at herself, heat suffusing her cheeks. "Good, surprisingly. I don't know what was in that salve you rubbed on me but it knocked me out for two days."

Jason started nodding then frowned. "How do you know that I didn't come to see you then? If you were asleep, I mean."

"I just…knew." Charlie suddenly found the lacy trim of the tablecloth very interesting, turning towards the table and fingering the delicate material. She wished that her hair was down so that she could hide behind the heavy fall. She hated how expressive her face was. The constant blushing was starting to piss her off.

"Huh," Jason grunted, a small smile tilting the corners of his lips. He could imagine how much it cost Charlie to admit that so he decided to drop it. He didn't know how long they had together but he figured they might as well enjoy it. He was leaving in the morning and he had no idea when he would see her again. Assuming war didn't break out in his absence.

"Well… Even though we were lured here under false pretenses, I don't see any reason why we can't enjoy a meal together. There's no reason to let the food go to waste." As a loud growl erupted from Charlie's midsection, he chuckled softly. "I see that your stomach agrees with me.

Stepping cautiously towards her, he pulled out the chair closest to her and waited while she weighed the pros and cons, her thoughts evident in her face, before finally dropping into the seat. He then moved around the table and sat opposite her.

The servings were already portioned so they uncovered the fine silver and dug in. The champagne turned out to be home brew in a fancy bottle. Jason poured the almost colourless liquid into their glasses, warning Charlie to take her time lest the potent liquor knock her off her feet. Literally.

"So…" Charlie ventured. "How's work?" The food was delicious and there was a companiable silence between them but she still felt nervous so talking to fill the void seemed like a good idea. She'd caught his eyes ghosting over her ridiculously revealing outfit every now and then and it gave her butterflies. What did she expect, though? He _was_ a guy. And…if she was really honest with herself, she liked that he liked the way she looked. If she had to bare her assets, as it were, at least it was for the one person she actually _wanted_ looking at them.

"Work is fine," Jason replied carefully. He couldn't go into detail yet he didn't want to seem unwilling to share. Charlie was never going to approve of what he did, _who_ he worked for, and he didn't want it to spoil the mood yet he didn't want to lie to her in any way either. He also didn't want her to know that he would be leaving in the morning. For some reason, he just knew that it would cast a pall over the rest of their time together.

"Thrown anyone off a train lately?" she asked sarcastically. "Or _not_, rather."

Okay, where did that come from?, Charlie wondered frantically. She really hadn't meant to say it. She'd gone over that day in her head many a time and she understood why Jason had done what he did.

Jason set his fork down, slowly chewing the food in his mouth before wiping his lips and placing the napkin on the table. "I don't know what you want me to say, Charlie, but I won't apologize for what I did. I don't regret saving your life. Not in the least."

"But did you _really_ save my life?" she pressed, her words the complete opposite of her feelings. She felt like she was split in two with no control of her mouth. "For all you know, bringing me here signed my death warrant."

"You could have been hurt…" Jason began.

"I _was_ hurt," she retorted. She stuck an arm out, the white lines in stark relief against the glow of the candle on the table. "Or have you forgotten?"

"I couldn't forget if I tried," Jason said, self-directed anger tainting his words. "But I still won't apologize. I wanted to throw you off the train but I couldn't risk it. I couldn't take the chance that you would've landed badly and broken your neck." He paused, cocking his head to the side as he perused her. "Are you really that angry, though? Or do you just think that you should be? Because if I hadn't brought you here, you would've lost Danny again. Not to mention that you never would've known your mom was alive."

"Oh, so I should be _thanking_ you then?" she asked, cocking a brow. "Speaking of mothers, how's yours?"

When Jason's jaw tightened, she pressed onward.

"I saw her when we got off the train. Pretty lady. Very…Lady of the Manor. Elegant, nicely dressed. Must be nice being Captain Neville's wife. I'm sure it comes with many perks."

Jason's eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

"Then again, it's advantageous being his son as well, isn't it? I mean just look at you now. The General himself thought so highly of your performance that he went out of his way to reward you. It's a very ideal life you guys live. Pretty houses, pretty clothes, never having to worry about where your next meal is coming from or having to pay taxes, I'm sure. It'd be like paying yourself, wouldn't it?"

"Do you ever shut up?" he barked, hands curled into fists on the table. He'd never been this angry and the last person he expected to bring it out of him was Charlie. Then again, where she was concerned, all of his emotions were intense.

"Why? Does the truth hurt? Why can't you admit that while most people are out there suffering, you guys are living like nothing's changed in the last fifteen years? Like society didn't crumble when the lights went out. And the only reason you can afford to live like this is because of the sweat, blood and tears of the people. How can you stand to look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the day, knowing what you do for a living?"

Jason shook his head, laughing humorlessly. "Wow… Do you even realize how much of a hypocrite you are?"

Charlie opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.

"You sit there, all righteous like you're speaking for _the people_ as you call them when you've had a pretty comfy life yourself. You've never gone hungry, haven't been abandoned or homeless. Yes, your dad died and for that I'll always be sorry but you've never been alone or wanted for anything, except maybe your mother. Even without your dad, Maggie and Noah have always been by your side. Then Miles, Nora. And you've always had Danny, even when he wasn't with you. He's still your brother, still your blood. Your life may not be perfect but you still had so much more than most of these people on whose behalf you speak."

"How would you know? Who are you to talk when you live _here_?" she retorted. "You can't get more removed from the real world than this."

Jason sighed, picked up his glass and took a long swig. After a few moments, he set the glass down and met her gaze with a serious one of his own.

"Do you know why your uncle started the militia? After the lights went out and he was on the road trying to make his way to you, to your dad, he kept seeing people, regular people, being taken advantage of, abused, killed, and he got tired of it. So he fought back, saving one passerby, then another and another. And do you know why he did that? Because _he_ could defend himself while they couldn't. Society went to hell when the lights went out. There was no one around forcing us to uphold laws or simple moral codes. People did what they pleased, even at the expense of others. I'm sure that even in your relatively safe, harmonious life you've had at least one violent experience."

A long forgotten memory flashed in Charlie's mind: her mother shooting a man who had tried to steal their food, taking his life when her father couldn't. She hadn't understood at the time but now, as an adult and faced with her own sense of right and wrong, good and bad, she had to admit that had she been in her mother's shoes, she would have done the same. Hadn't she killed several times on her way to finding Danny? And she would again without blinking an eye if anyone she cared about were in danger.

"I don't think your uncle intended for things to turn out the way they did. He truly just wanted to help. But what started off with the best of intentions blossomed into something else entirely as the years passed. People change, Charlie. For good and for bad." His eyes clouded, as if he were no longer seeing her but looking into the past. "The first person my father killed was our neighbour. He came into our home, threatened to kill my father if he didn't let him take our food. I know that my father didn't have to kill him, even back then I knew that it was wrong and there were other options, but he did. I think he needed to to give him the strength to survive in this new world. He'd never been a particularly violent man before but since that day…" Jason shook his head. "Even with his newfound inner strength, it was tough for us out on the road and we barely survived. Falling in with Monroe was a godsend. And it gave my father purpose, gave my mother hope. I would trade it all for what you had Charlie: a simple life in a simple town with good people. It may be boring and quiet but after everything I've seen, everything I've had to do, boring and quiet sounds really good to me." He focused on her again, his eyes hard. "So don't you dare judge me, judge _us_, as if we sold our souls to the devil for gold or something so trivial. We did what we had to do to survive, just like your parents did."

Charlie swallowed thickly. "There are other ways…"

"Yes, and perhaps if there'd been another way when we were on the point of starvation my father would have taken it but there wasn't. _This_ was it." Jason started to run a frustrated hand through his hair, stopping when he remembered that the long locks he used to be so fond of were no longer there and hadn't been for a few years. "I don't agree with every order I'm given, I don't like most of what I'm told to do, but what choice do I have? This is my family, Charlie. Their survival depends on me as much as mine depends on them."

"You could…"

"…leave?" he finished for her. He laughed harshly. "If only it were that easy. You know better. Desertion equals death. There are no ifs, ands or buts about it."

He'd succinctly countered every argument she could possibly make and deep down she understood but for reasons unknown to her, Charlie simply couldn't accept it. It was far too sensible and rational and…human.

Monroe was the enemy, everything she hated, but sitting across the table from Jason, someone she knew had a soul and was capable of love, someone she herself cared about, made her realize that there was more to the militia than she'd ever considered. There were more Jasons and Sams out there, innocents who'd been roped into this mess either by their parents or their circumstances. Or because they'd been forced, she added, knowing that recruitment was often not consensual. Acknowledging that led her to wondering how many Jasons and Sams she'd inadvertently killed, seeing them only as their uniforms, symbols, and not as human beings, men with families whose lives depended on them. The possibility that she might have churned her stomach, threatening to empty its contents.

Jason was right: she was a hypocrite. Although things had been touch-and-go for a while in the years immediately following the blackout, she'd never really suffered. Her parents had made sure of that. And when they'd joined the community and settled in, it was like nothing had changed. Sure, there'd been no electricity, none of the creature comforts she'd grown used to in her first few years of life, but she'd never gone without and she'd been part of a society of good, hard-working people that had helped instill values that she may not have had otherwise. She'd even gotten used to being motherless because her father had more than made up for her absence. Plus, as much as she wouldn't have admitted it before they'd set out on their search for Danny, Maggie had been there, whether she'd acknowledged her presence or not. It was ironic: she was mad at her mother for leaving, for _not_ being dead when she'd thought that she was all these years, but she'd been perfectly fine with not missing her mother at all. Even a dead mother warranted a thought every now and then, didn't she?

Disgusted with herself, she picked up her glass and drained it.

Jason's eyes widened. "Charlie…"

"Enough!" She slammed the glass down on the table, wiped her mouth and stood, teetering a bit before steadying herself. "We've both said enough. Let's just get on with it."

Jason stood slowly, looking at her warily, as if she were a wild animal he wasn't sure how to approach. "Charlie…"

"No!" she said sharply. "Don't say anything. Let's do what we came here for so we can get out of here."

Jason rounded the table when she stumbled, catching her by the elbow, but made no further move to touch her.

"You don't know what you're saying," he said softly.

Why did he have to be so damn attractive?, Charlie thought, looking up into his face. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd been ugly, though. Okay, maybe not _ugly_ but less handsome, less masculine. His looks were nice and all but they weren't what made her like him. And liking him was painful because they couldn't be together. He was Captain Neville's son, a Lieutenant in the militia, and she was the niece of the most wanted man in the Monroe Republic. And, technically, a rebel. They were worlds apart and it was just so damn…sad.

"Touch me," she whispered. "I know you want to."

Jason blinked. One minute he'd been looking into those beautiful blue pools, feeling himself being sucked in even while he wondered why she suddenly looked like she wanted to cry, and the next her words were sending a shock to his system.

"What?" he croaked.

"I'm your reward, aren't I?" she taunted. "You've earned me."

Jason shook his head. "Stop it."

Wrenching her arm out of his grip, she took a shaky step back. "You don't want to make Monroe angry, do you? I mean, heaven forbid a good little soldier like you doesn't follow an order."

Before the thought had even finished fully forming in her mind, she reached up and undid one of the shoulder ties. She didn't do it because Jade said that it built sexual tension but she couldn't help noticing how Jason's pupils dilated when she did.

"Charlie, stop it," Jason barked. "You don't want this any more than I do."

She cocked a brow. "How do you know? Maybe I do. Maybe this is my life now. Maybe I should just get used to it. How about it, Jason? Want to help me practice?" Her shiny blue gaze narrowed, a mirthless smile curving her lips. "I promise I'm a quick study."

Possessed by a fury of unparalleled proportions, Jason grabbed her upper arms and shook her hard. "Shut up! You are not a…"

"…whore?" Charlie finished for him. "If it looks like a duck…_Mfff_!"

Later on, Jason would tell himself that he only did it because he wanted to shut her up. She was saying things that he knew she didn't mean and he just wanted her to stop pretending. It had nothing to do with how soft her skin was beneath his palms or how her stained, red lips were like a beacon just begging for his own or the way her eyes, even as she spat absolute nonsense at him, raked over his face as if she knew exactly how he felt because she was feeling it too. No, that was indeed _not_ why he kissed her.

But her lips were even softer than he'd ever imagined and he experienced only a split-second of shock when she parted for him before he plundered her mouth, the kiss deepening as he wrapped his arms around her and she wound her arms around his neck.

The bed somehow rose up to meet them and they tumbled onto it, a sprawl of limbs and grasping hands. Even though he was lost in the sensory overload, Jason was still conscious enough to shift his body to the side, not wanting to squash Charlie with his much heavier weight, though the idea of her beneath him only inflamed his passion further.

It was okay to touch her, he told himself, since her hands were all over him, her fingers digging into his back. Unlike him, Charlie was showing absolutely no restraint. So it was totally permissible for him to caress the silken flesh of her legs, to trail his hand up the side of her thigh. Up, up, up he went. For a short person, her legs seemed to go on forever, he noticed, but as she shifted in his arms, partly rolling on top of him, what his hand came to rest on was suddenly curved.

Jason froze, his fingers unconsciously curling around the smooth mound in his hand. Dear God, she wasn't wearing any underwear. She was completely naked beneath the thin material of her dress.

His stomach clenched, lust spearing his already erect manhood. The night was proving to be far more than he'd expected, more than he could handle.

He wanted Charlie, so damn much, and he suspected that if he initiated love making, if he took her dress off or slid his hand between her legs and touched her where his fingers suddenly longed to go, she would let him. And things would progress from there. But it wouldn't be lovemaking because she didn't love him. Not yet, and despite his intense feelings for her, he wasn't sure that what he felt was love yet either. He cared for her, longed to be with her, but they hadn't really spent enough time together, without complications, to know whether they, as people not enemies in a war, could have something real. And he didn't want just one night with Charlie; he wanted a lifetime.

Suddenly, Charlie moaned and the sound was like a kick in the gut. A low groan bubbled up from his own throat and his hands tightened, holding her closer.

For her part, Charlie's thoughts were on a completely different wavelength from Jason's. She'd never felt anything remotely close to the sensations flooding her system just then. Back in her community, there'd been boys she'd grown up with, boys who were now young men, and some of them had shown an interest in her but she'd never seen them as anything more than friends, had never thought of herself as a girl of datable or marriageable age. Her life had only ever consisted of looking after Danny and other than the dreams of a future when the lights came on or fantasies of what life outside the community might be like, the adventures she could have, she'd never wanted anything more than what she'd had. She's been contented, if not exactly satisfied. When she was younger, she'd found books, romance novels, that had seemed so silly to her at the time, the way the women swooned and turned to puddles when men touched them and how irrational they suddenly became when they were in love. She couldn't believe that having feelings for someone else could change a person that much. Yet here she was, hungrily nipping at Jason's lips, writhing wantonly against him in a way that seemed to come instinctively. She had no sexual experience, had never done anything more than experimentally kiss a couple of guys – one of whom had been Danny, for crying out loud – yet her body was throbbing, crying for something that it desperately needed, and it seemed to know how to go about getting it.

The thought of losing her virginity right then and there should have been scary but it strangely wasn't. She'd never put much stock in it – it was a _thing_ that she would eventually lose – but more than anything, the fact that it was Jason somehow seemed…right. He was the first guy to make her feel anything, and everything, so it seemed fitting that he be her first. She was positive that she wouldn't be his so with his experience and her enthusiasm, they should be able to make this a relatively pleasant experience. Or so she hoped. Her body felt like it was on fire and there was an intense, almost painful tingling at the apex of her thighs but beneath the passion, there was some nervousness. It was to be expected she supposed.

Just then, Jason cupped her bare ass and she moaned, her teeth sinking into the bruised flesh of his lip when his hand tightened, his body pressing into hers.

_Yes_, she thought. _This is really happening_.

Abruptly, with no warning whatsoever, Jason released her and drew back. He was off the bed before she even realized he had moved.

Blinking away her confusion, Charlie opened her mouth to speak, realized her throat felt dry and cleared it before trying again.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice unusually husky.

"This," Jason replied, waving a hand in her general direction.

Pushing up on her elbows, Charlie looked up at him, genuine confusion etched into her face. Her brain was still clouded and she could still feel his body against hers, his hands stirring her blood, so it was quite a challenge to concentrate on conversation.

"Why?" He was unnaturally stiff, she noticed, unmoving, as if he'd locked his muscles in place.

"Because this isn't what either of us wants," he said simply.

Charlie shook her head. "No, I do. I want this and…you want me too." Her eyes dropped to his crotch where the evidence of his desire was plain to see.

"But not like this. There's nothing I want more in the world than to make love to you, Charlie, and I will. When you come to me on your own, of your own free will, I'll be the happiest man in the world."

"Jason…"

He shook his head, his eyes drifting over her. She looked so lovely, rumpled and inviting. If the hem of her dress was an inch higher in the front, with the way her legs were askew, her most private place would be revealed to his hungry eyes. But even though he loved that the lust in her eyes were for him, the garish smudges of her make-up and the barely there material of her dress were a reminder that this has been a setup, a contrived event. She still had those silly heels on, for cripes sake. The situation was just wrong.

Sighing, he sat on the bed, his back turned towards her, and dropped his face into his hands.

"So what now?" Charlie asked, finally breaking the silence that seemed to have stretch on for hours.

Jason turned towards her and for a moment, when he reached out, Charlie thought that perhaps he'd changed his mind, but he didn't take her into his arms like she hoped. Instead, he slipped her feet free of their uncomfortable confines, her arches immediately breathing a grateful sigh of relief, and folded the side of the comforter over her so that she was covered from neck to toe.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight, Charlie."

Jason stood and walked over to the chair in the corner by the window, dropping into it. He didn't look back at Charlie, though he could imagine the surprise on her face, and when silence continued to reign, he took it as a sign that she wasn't going to argue further, for which he was thankful. Someone would let them out eventually, he was sure, but for now, he needed quiet and space, needed to think. He was still unnerved by the possibility that Monroe knew of his feelings for Charlie but he wouldn't allow himself to think about that at the moment. He had to get his head back on track.

The mission he was leaving for the next day wasn't a high-risk one, simply information gathering, but there were no guarantees and anything could happen. When you were in the militia, death, or threat of death, was your constant companion. If he wanted to come back to Charlie, if he had any hope of picking up where they'd left off, then he needed to forget her and focus on his mission.

As the thought crossed his mind, however, he realized that she still didn't know that he was leaving. When she woke up in the morning, he would be gone.

_Damn_.

* * *

A/N: Yay, I finally updated! lol

Firstly, sorry it took so long. I'd actually started this when I posted the previous chapter since it's a continuation but I've been dealing with some health issues of the not-so-easy-to-overcome variety for the past month so I haven't really been able to write like I would have liked. It's still a bit of a challenge, concentration is not my friend right now, but I'm making the best of my good days.

So I hope you guys don't find it _too_ lacking. The MA rating was finally supposed to come into play in this chapter but I just don't have it in me to go down that road right now. I'm a bit bummed that I couldn't stick to my original conception but I made do the best I could (man, do I sound like a pervert or what?) There's supposed to be one last part in this chapter (when Charlie wakes up the next morning) but my brain needs a rest so I'm going to start the next chapter with that instead. Hopefully it won't be 100 years from now.

And lastly, what does everyone think about the show now that it's back? I'm happy that there's more Jason and from the preveiws there's a kiss coming so I'm looking forward to that. It's about damn time if you ask me. I know that romance isn't the main theme of the show and normally I'd be happy about that but I'm tired of all the dropped hints and no delivery. Even if it's just Miles and Nora, I'll take it. Miles and Rachel...not so much, though I do foresee the "Miles is your daddy" plot twist coming. If it doesn't happen, I will be **shocked**.

Oh, and RIP Danny. I wasn't really affected by his death but it's sad that it happened anyway, for Charlie and Rachel's sakes. Plus Miles never got to know him so that's doubly sad. And he didn't deserve to die like that. He won't be dying in this fic, though, so if you're a Danny fan, breathe easy. All similarities to the show ended at the train scene.

Until next time!


	5. Chapter 5

How long she'd been sitting there, staring into space, Charlie didn't know.

She'd woken up some time ago to find herself alone in the room. Even before she'd opened her eyes, she'd known that he was gone. He'd left, probably before the sun came up, stealing away like a thief in the night. Except…he hadn't stolen anything, had he? He'd taken nothing, but he'd left a lot. The smell and taste of him still lingered on her; she could still feel the pressure of his fingers where he'd touched her, and the ache where she'd wanted him to.

Above all else, confusion and a complete loss of self was what he'd gifted her. She felt adrift, like she was being tossed to and fro in a rough sea though her body lay motionless propped up against the pillows. He'd made her feel things that she'd never felt before, made her want things that she'd never given a thought to, but worst of all, he'd made her look at things, her life, from an entirely new point of view, for which she couldn't help feeling a little resentment towards him. Life wasn't black and white like she'd always thought. There were certainly a lot of grey areas, she'd just never allowed herself to see them. She was her father's daughter, an idealist through and through, but her father hadn't led the life that she did. He'd chosen safety and normalcy and she'd wanted danger and intrigue. Having experienced it now, losing her father, then Danny, falling for the enemy and being captured by him, she couldn't help wondering if _right_ was ever truly right and if _wrong_ was really that wrong to begin with. Who was to say when reasoning could be shot to hell if one only looked at a situation from another's point of view? Jason had made her realize that she was no different, certainly no better, than the men she'd fought and killed in her efforts to save Danny and she wasn't entirely comfortable with acknowledging that possibility.

He'd also left her one more thing:

_"__Charlie, I had to leave. You won't be seeing me for a while. I should have told you last night, I'm sorry. Don't try to leave the room. Someone will come for you, I've seen to it. I don't know when I'll be back but I will be, I promise you. Until then…take care of yourself. Jason."_

Her eyes dropped to the small piece of paper in her limp hand. His script was as brief and straight to the point as he was. Never one to mince words, that was Jason. It was one of the things she liked about him. Except when he was lying, of course.

Perhaps not seeing him for a while would be a good thing. She would have time to settle into her new life and find some way to reconcile her new revelations about herself with the person she wanted to be. She didn't know if she could do that with him around to distract her, not now that he'd awakened something inside her that she seemed to have no control over. But, even as she thought it she knew that she was lying to herself. She didn't want him to be gone; she needed him here. Apart from Danny, and Rachel too she supposed, Jason was all that she had, the only person she trusted. And though she was self-sufficient and could take care of herself, she felt safer knowing that he was around keeping an eye on her, even if she couldn't see him as much as she wanted to.

It was strange, admitting that she needed him. She'd never needed anyone, had always been the one needed. Correction, that wasn't exactly true. She'd needed Miles to help her find Danny but that was different. It just was. It made no difference, though. He was already gone and she knew that she might never see him again. Jason was good but he wasn't nearly as capable as he thought he was. Anything could happen and the thought churned her stomach. She could only hope that if something happened to him, if he did die, it would be quick and painless. She also hoped that word of his fate came back, because the constant wondering and not knowing would drive her crazy.

The sudden turning of a key in the lock broke her out of her thoughts and she tensed, eyes glued to the door.

"Charlie!"

Charlie relaxed when Rachel burst into the room, concern etched into her features.

_She looks old_, she thought absently. _Older_. She was still a beautiful woman, her mother, with her vibrant blond hair and striking blue eyes but the years…they'd left their mark. Here was another person she'd judged harshly without knowing the whole story. Her own damn mother.

Jason was right. She was an absolute hypocrite.

"Did they hurt you?" Rachel asked frantically, trying to look her over while gathering her into her arms at the same time.

"No," Charlie whispered. She let herself be held, feeling small and young in a way that she hadn't in ages, perhaps not since the blackout.

"Are you sure?" Rachel drew back and looked her over, eyes searching, searching.

She knew what her mother would see: tussled hair, smudged make-up, a slight tear in the plunging neckline. She'd seen it herself when she'd made a short trip to the bathroom before returning to the bed. It wasn't Jason's doing, though, she was certain of it. She'd always been a bit of a chaotic sleeper – her father used to joke that she did gymnastics in her sleep – so she'd probably done it herself. It wasn't her fault that the dress was so damn tight. Jade would just have to deal with it.

Charlie flashed her mother a reassuring smile. "Positive."

"But…" Rachel fingered the torn lace, her unspoken question obvious.

"He didn't hurt me," Charlie insisted.

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to kill Bass. This is all his doing." Rachel stood and paced for a minute before turning back to her daughter, hands on her hips. "Who was it? Just give me a name and I'll…"

"He didn't do anything that I didn't want him to!" Charlie snapped. Her hands curled into fists, the note crumpling in her grip, and she pushed herself up, standing to face her mother. "He didn't hurt me and I don't want you to do anything. Just…pretend it never happened. I intend to. Don't go making things worse for us than it already is."

Rachel shook her head. "Charlie…"

"Promise me, Mom. Promise me that you won't do anything stupid and get us all killed. Remember, he only needs to keep one of us alive until Miles gets here and right now, you're the most useful. Danny and I are expendable so unless you want to be responsible for our deaths…"

She was a horrible daughter for guilting her mother like that but it was the only way to keep them all safe. Rachel couldn't afford to lose her head at a time like this, not when their situation was still so precarious. She had no intention of returning to the dungeon, definitely none of dying there.

Rachel froze, horror washing over her features as Charlie's words took root.

"Promise me, Mom."

Another minute ticked by before Rachel finally spoke. "I promise." The words sounded like they'd been torn from her throat, grudging and choked. "I won't say anything."

Satisfied, Charlie nodded and turned away, her eyes falling to the bed. She was surprised to feel a certain sadness, an unwillingness to leave it. They'd made memories here, memories that she might never have the opportunity to relive. If she never saw him again, if he never came back, this would have been the climax of their relationship.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked abruptly, glancing over at her mother.

"I…uh, I got a note." Rachel dug a piece of paper out of her pocket and held it out to Charlie. "Under my breakfast tray. It said to come to this room with a change of clothes. So long as I'm escorted, I can move around the house freely and the guard opened the door when I told him to, as if he were expecting me."

Charlie read the note quickly, immediately recognizing Jason's handwriting. She hadn't noticed the clothes when Rachel stormed in but she saw it now, scattered at the foot of the bed.

_Oh, Jason_, she thought. _Ever my knight in not-so-shining armor._

By now, everyone probably knew that she'd been given to him as a gift, most likely assuming that she'd been a gift well received, but he'd been worried about preserving her dignity. It was a very Jason thing to do, she thought with a small, secret smile.

"Do you know who it's from?" she asked vaguely.

"No," Rachel replied. "But I'm glad they sent for me."

Charlie's smile widened.

_If you only knew, Mommy dearest._

* * *

Once Charlie was settled in the room next to her own, Rachel blazed a trail to Monroe's office, surprising his guards by pushing past them and opening the door without being announced.

"You bastard!" Her words rang out, echoing off the vaulted ceiling of the large room.

The room was completely silent, the men within and whatever they had been discussing coming to an abrupt halt.

"I'm sorry, Sir," the guard directly behind her explained, grabbing her arm. "She caught us off guard."

Eyes narrowed, Monroe nodded to his companions, a Lieutenant and a Colonel whose names Rachel's brain was too heated to recall, dismissing them. "Release her. I'll deal with you two later."

Rachel knew what that meant, as surely as the men themselves did, but she couldn't find it in herself to feel remorse. Anyone who chose to serve Monroe, to protect and defend him, was her enemy and deserved to die.

She held herself together while the room emptied, her body trembling with the effort it took to contain her rage. As soon as the door shut behind the last man, she exploded.

"How could you?"

Unconcerned, Monroe walked to his sidebar and calmly poured himself a drink. "I'm positive that I have no idea what you're talking about."

"My daughter. Charlie. How could you do that to her? Send her to some…some man, as if she were a meal to be served up to him." Her voice cracked. "She's just a girl. She's still young and innocent and…"

Monroe took a long sip before looking at her curiously. "Was she misused in some way? Mistreated, harmed, abused?"

Rachel blanched. "No, but…"

"Did _she_ complain? Did she say that she was hurt? Forced?"

An angry flush stole across her cheeks. "No, she didn't."

Monroe cocked his head to the side. "What _did_ she say then?"

Rachel gritted her teeth, the words clogging in her throat.

Monroe chuckled. "Cat got your tongue, Rachel?"

"She said that he didn't do anything that she didn't want him to," she spat.

"Ahh." Monroe raised his glass in a toast. "And there you have it." Draining the glass, he set it on his desk and slowly walked towards her. "Don't go looking for fires where there's no smoke, Rachel. Don't make mountains out of molehills." He stopped directly in front her. His blue eyes were ice cold. "And don't you ever burst into my office _ever_ again. I allow you a lot of freedom out of my own fondness for you but it isn't wise to forget your position here. I need you, for now. But I do not need your children. I may grow fond of them in time too, who knows, but for now, they're just leverage. And a gift, from me to you. A gift that I wouldn't hesitate to take back."

He raised a hand and gently swept her blond hair back off her forehead, his smile returning. "Cheer up, Rachel. Have a little faith. I would never hurt your precious Charlie. After all, she looks so much like you. _And_ she's kin to the best friend I ever had. Miles is going to come for her soon. I just want her to be happy while she's here." His words took on a taunting quality. "She seems to be settling in much quicker than even I expected." His fingers tightened slightly. "Don't ruin it for her. It's too late for you to play _mommy to the rescue_ and I'd hate for you to wreck what's probably your last chance at reconciliation."

Eyes blazing blue fire, Rachel slapped his hand away and stalked to the door. With her hand poised over the handle, she stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.

"Who is he?" she asked grudgingly.

"She didn't tell you?" Monroe laughed heartily. "Well, far be it for me to spoil the surprise. You're going to get a kick out of it, I assure you."

Disgusted with her captor and filled with self directed hatred as a result of her own helplessness, Rachel left the room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Jason lounged casually in the uncomfortable, wooden chair, leisurely sipping the drink in his hand.

It was all a façade, though. His eyes were ever vigilant, making a sweep of the saloon every five minutes.

After a three day trek to the small outpost town, which mostly served as a hub for merchants and agents of otherwise suspect commerce, and another four days spent putting out his feelers, he'd finally decided to make a move. He was in a private room of sorts, a little box with a serviceable cot and small table/chair, waiting for his guest to arrive. He'd left the door wide open so that he could see into the saloon beyond, the entrance especially, from his vantage point at the far wall. The window behind him was open, just in case he needed to make a speedy exit.

No sooner had he finished the thought than the girl entered. She was as pretty as he remembered from the days he'd scouted her out before, definitely deserving of her reputation with her long, shiny brown hair and brilliant blue eyes. Her body, from what he could see of it in her sequined silver dress, was quite praiseworthy as well. She smiled when she saw him and it seemed genuine. He imagined that she had all kinds of visitors, from all walks of life and all age groups, so a clean-cut, handsome _young_ man was probably a welcome sight.

"Hello hello," she purred, closing the door firmly behind her.

His lips stretched into his most charming smile. "Hi there."

"Tell me: what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

She walked towards him slowly, her sultry saunter clearly practiced and perfected for utmost effect.

He cocked his head to the side, allowing his gaze to sweep her body from head to toe. "I could ask you the same thing."

She shrugged delicately, mouth curving upward at the corners, tongue snaking out to wet her full lower lip. "A girl has to do whatever's necessary to survive."

He turned sideways in his seat and looked up at her when she stopped beside him. "And this was your only option?"

Something flashed in her eyes and her mouth seemed to tighten for a second but the change passed as quickly as it came. "It seemed the most feasible at the time."

"What about now?"

She shrugged again. "I'm good at what I do. I see no reason to stop doing it." The Cheshire grin returned as she straddled his lap, her hands tugging at the worn, simple shirt he wore. She leaned towards him, pausing with her lips a breath away from his. "Why don't I show you how good I can be?"

Jason raised his hands to her waist and for a moment they clung but just as he shifted forward, as if to close the space between them, his hold tightened, fingers digging into her fabric-covered flesh, and he lifted her off of him, setting her on her feet. His expression became deadly serious, work mode activated.

"I didn't come here for that," he said brusquely.

Confused, she stumbled back and dropped heavily onto the bed. Frowning, she asked, "What did you come here for then?"

Jason reached for his drink on the table and took a small sip. "I was told that you could help me. That you have access to pertinent information that is of use to me."

Her expression became wary. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Do you know Colonel August Kline of the Georgia Federation?"

"5'10, sandy blond hair, thick in the middle – my bad, _robust_ – talks too much, likes to be spanked. Yes, what of it?"

"You've heard of Sebastian Monroe, I take it."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Who hasn't? Why…" She trailed off just as realization lit her eyes. "You're in the militia."

He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and flashed his brand before tugging it back down. "General Monroe requires your assistance."

She immediately started shaking her head. "No. I don't want to get caught up in somebody else's mess. This has nothing to do with me."

Despite the pity that tugged at his heart, Jason kept his expression cold and detached. "It's too late for that. You're already involved, whether you help me or not. Any assistance you provide will be rewarded. Refusal…well, you can imagine that General Monroe isn't a man too keen on hearing the word _no_."

"Bastard," she swore.

Her words cut deep but Jason didn't let it show. "Here's the deal. It's come to our attention that there may be a mole or _moles_ in the Monroe Republic. It was only a matter of time, I suppose, since we have our own moles in the rebel camp and the Georgia Federation as well. That being said, just because we have moles doesn't mean we're going to tolerate someone else's. I need you to help me scare our little friend out of his hidey hole."

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know that I'm not the mole? Or that I won't tell someone, Colonel Kline or another Georgia officer, that you know that one exists?"

Jason grinned. "It couldn't possibly be you, of that I'm sure. As for telling anyone…you won't. If you do, I'd know exactly whose mouth I need to silence." His grin widened. "Permanently."

She scooted back on the bed a little, as if she needed to put a little more space between them. "What do you want me to do?"

"I have it on good authority that Colonel Kline has taken a special liking to you. I also have it on good authority that he's the one the mole answers to. I just need you to get me a name. It's that simple. As you said, he talks too much. That should make things considerably easier for you. I'm sure that a girl of your…" His eyes lazily trailed over her again. "…ample talents could accomplish that with little effort."

"And if I do this you'll leave me alone?" she asked skeptically. "You'll tell Monroe that I helped you?"

Jason fished a small pouch out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to her. "That's yours to keep. Just for today."

Warily, she upended the pouch into her hand, gasping when a short waterfall of tiny, brilliant stones came pouring out.

"There'll be more where that came from once we've got what we need," Jason said, confident that he'd won her over. "Enough for you to leave this place if you so choose."

"Where is there left to go?" she muttered, the bitter hopelessness in her voice not going unnoticed.

"Anywhere you want. Away from here at least." His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, eliciting a gasp as some of the stones trickled to the floor. "Or do you enjoy being manhandled and marked?" he asked dryly, his gaze dipping to the visible bruise circling her wrist.

She tried to tug her hand back but to no avail. "Let go of me."

"A whore can be a whore any and everywhere she goes," Jason said earnestly. "If you're going to live this lifestyle, at least take care of yourself. It's not going to last forever.

_She's so young_, he thought suddenly. _She can't be more than twenty_. Looking at her, with the gaudy makeup and her bright, blue eyes that still shone with innocence, he couldn't help but remember Charlie the last time he'd seen her. Beautiful, yes, but so young and unspoiled, playing a part she was clearly too inexperienced to play. She'd been forced to do something against her will but luckily he'd been there to save her. He couldn't resist the urge to try to save this one too.

"You remind me of …" He paused, a wry smile tilting his lips. "…my little sister. Like you, she thinks she's strong and capable but she recently found herself in a situation where she could have seriously been hurt. I admire strong, capable women but I admire smart women more and a smart woman knows when it's time to get going. General Monroe's compound hosts a hotel where girls such as yourself do what you do in relative comfort and they seem to like it there. They've formed their own family of sorts. I can't promise you a completely new life but if you come with me, I can promise that you'll be safe. That any man who dares to raise his hand to you will surely lose it on his next breath. You'll be treated with respect and you may even find someone you want to settle down with. There are other jobs there besides selling yourself." He dropped his hand. "The choice is yours. If you do decide to stay when we conclude our business, I won't hold it against you. Your part ends once I get what I came for. The rest is up to you."

He rose, drained his drink and slipped into his jacket.

"Colonel Kline will be here tomorrow, I'm told."

The girl nodded.

"I'll come back at the end of the week. That should be enough time for you to get what I need."

He walked towards the door and opened it before pausing to look back at her. "What's your name?" He already knew but he felt like he needed to ask anyway. He hoped that saying her name and hearing it out loud would give her a sense of identity, remind her that she wasn't just a piece of meat for sale.

"Lyanna," she said softly.

"Shall I come back for you too, Lyanna?" There was no pressure behind the question, no implication that he wanted a negative or affirmative response. The choice was truly hers. He firmly believed that one could only save those who wanted to be saved.

After a long stretch of silence, she nodded.

With a curt nod of his own, he said, "I'll see you then. Take care of yourself."

With that, he stepped outside and closed the door, confident that his mission was already a certified success.

* * *

A/N: So how great was Monday's episode? We finally got a kiss, hallelujah! Granted, they just had to go screw things up next week. Feed us with one hand and spank us with the other. The producers are bastards to the max. I'm going to be naive and still hold out hope for a relatively happy conclusion, at least where Chason/Jarlie/Wtf-is-their-official-ship-name-cuz- I-don't-like-either-one? are concerned.


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